


Gasoline

by blithe_lunacy



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Harley Quinn (Comics), Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Abusive Relationships, Alternate Origin Story, Angst, Childhood Friends, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Torture, Jealousy, Origin Story, Physical Abuse, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Slow Build, Strong Female Characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2020-07-25 12:41:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 84,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20025979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blithe_lunacy/pseuds/blithe_lunacy
Summary: ‘Why should I apologise for the monster I’ve become?No one ever apologised for making me this way.’In a world where Harleen faces one too many harsh events growing up, she snaps early in her life. Striking an unlikely friendship in high school with the shy outcast Jonathan Crane, the two begin embracing their alter-egos; Harley Quinn and Scarecrow from a young age. Staggering through juvenile life together they both turn out scarred, damaged and eagerly drawn into the chaos that is Gotham city. Though being stuck in Arkham Asylum means that no one’s told the king there’s a new clown in town. But who better to disguise their way in and help break him out?♦ • ♥ • ♦The Joker in this story is based off pretty much entirely onHeath Ledger's Joker, NOT Leto's. I want to explore the more villainous, manipulative Joker type that Ledger portrays with his more dangerously controlled insanity and see how he'd react to an entirely independent Harley Quinn.You’ll see the darker, rawer sides of these characters as they tread a similar path to Harley's backstory as shown in briefly in Suicide Squad.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> > This fic is inspired by **Halsey** (and her song **Gasoline** in particular). Listening to her songs all I could think about were the relations some of them have to Harley Quinn. (And Halsey has such an amazing voice and I could picture Harley singing in her style). So, every, or nearly every, chapter has a song(s) related to it. I’ll write down the whole ‘soundtrack’ at the end of this fic once it's finished, 'cause I'm writing as I go.
> 
> > So after doing a bunch of research and reading some comments, the Joker in this story is based off pretty much entirely on **Heath Ledger's Joker**. I've gathered that pretty much everyone hates Jared Leto's Joker and whether that's through his own fault or not is another discussion, but I've realised that the Joker I want to portray **is** the more villainous, manipulative Ledger type with his more dangerously controlled insanity. **That's** the Joker I fell in love with and Leto's pales in comparison. Ledger's Joker is believable and most importantly relatable. I want to delve into and explore the darker, rawer sides of these characters but also have them travel down the same backstory as shown in briefly in Suicide Squad.
> 
> > Also, I apologise in advance if I balls up writing in American-English and write poor dialogue. Like it feels unnatural to me to write ‘mom’ instead of ‘mum’ haha. So, if you see anything glaringly British that I could Americanise tell me in a comment. I’m researching slang, vocab and stuff, but I wanna do myself and you guys proud and make this fic as realistic and believable as poss.
> 
> Anyways on with the fic, no one actually reads this shit and if you have… yeah, I don’t believe you, unless you add applesauce penguins in your comment.
> 
> Hope you enjoy. ♥ - B_L

_‘They send me away to find them a fortune_

_A chest filled with diamonds and gold_

_The house was awake with shadows and monsters_

_The hallways, they echoed and groaned’_

_ \- Control, Halsey_

A hushed silence falls over the hall. All eyes are fixed on a small girl, standing rigidly in position on a blue mat. She clenches her fists, her nails digging crescent marks into her palms, before she flexes her fingers to relax them.

Her own eyes are focused on the beam in front of her. Eyebrows furrowed, her blue eyes glint as they glare at the offending equipment intensely.

She dares it to even _think_ about fucking up this moment for her.

Taking a sharp breath in, she takes a confident step forward, grips the bar and gracefully pulls herself up in one fluid movement. Taking a wide stance, one foot in front of the other, she balances on the narrow beam. Stretching her arms above her head she poses regally and begins the routine.

Bending her knees a little she springs up, swiftly performing the splits in the air before touching back down steadily. Without a single blonde hair out of place, she feels a tentative smile sneak across her face. Flexing her arms again with an air of grace she leans forward and into a cartwheel, rolling out of it flawlessly.

Now the tricky part.

Standing on the end of the beam, the young girl glances over to her coach and feels encouraged by the smile and thumbs up she’s giving her. Biting back a smile, she nods. Breathing out slowly she bends backwards to perform a reverse cartwheel.

Trying not to lose focus upon hearing the class collectively gasp, instead, she concentrates on strengthening her arms. Closing her eyes for a brief second as she pulls her legs over, she tightens her grip before moving with the momentum back into standing position. A flawless execution. A large grin lights up her face along with a chorus of thrilled shouts lighting up the hall. She laughs giddily too, hardly believing it herself.

Of course, it’s in that moment though she misplaces a step and begins to teeter and fall. Landing roughly onto the mat below, her hiss of pain silences the excitement of the class.

“Oh, Harleen. Are you-”

“For fucks sake, Harley. Get up. You barely even started.”

The concerned Mrs Jones winces slightly at the harsh interruption.

The whole class turns around, but they all know where the harsh comments have come from. They hear them more often than not when they share lessons with Harleen.

Harleen’s mother, Sharon, sits in the stands and after taking a long drag from her cigarette she knocks it against the bench she’s sitting on. Her sharp facial features are twisted in a sour expression. The many frown lines deeply set in her forehead and around her mouth make the kids wonder if she’s ever smiled a day in her life.

The coach drops the hand she was holding out for Harleen after the young girl brushes her off and staggers to her feet on her own, gingerly placing her weight on her left ankle. Mrs Jones spares another look at Harleen, but the small girl stubbornly keeps her head down. Sighing she turns around to face Sharon who is making her way over.

“Mrs Quinzel, I’ve told you before. You can’t smoke in here,” she tries to contain the disgust she feels from bleeding over into her tone, but she fails in the face of the most unpleasant woman that Brooklyn has to offer.

“Piss off, princess,” Sharon spits out from around her cigarette and grabs hold of Harleen’s upper arm, ignoring her flinch and begins dragging her away.

“You did really well today Harleen!” Mrs Jones calls loudly after the pair. One furiously storming out, the other being tugged along ruthlessly to match the unforgiving pace.

Harleen doesn’t look back or acknowledge her coach in any noticeable way, her eyes unwavering from the floor.

Mrs Jones frowns deeply, catching the end of their conversation as the gym doors slam shut behind them.

“-not paying you to fall on your ass and giggle about it. You’re wasting both our fucking time, acting like a little shit like that. If you wanna prove that you’re good enough, get-”

The blanket of silence returns, draping uncomfortably over the class.

♦ • ♥ • ♦

_‘I sat alone, in bed till the morning_

_I’m crying, “They’re coming for me”_

_And I tried to hold these secrets inside me_

_My mind’s like a deadly disease’_

_ \- Control, Halsey_

The strained silence continues in the car as the two drive back home. Harleen stares out the open window, feeling suffocated despite the cold air whipping her face as they speed through the street.

She supposes that her mom’s waiting for her to speak first, but Harleen doesn’t have anything she wants to say to her. Sighing softly, her eyes flicker over the scenery that flies past. There’s nothing she particularly wants to hear from her mom either. Well, nothing she can reasonably hope for anyway.

“Look, Harls,” she hears her mom begin. _Here we go._ She refuses to turn around and look at her, but can’t help the tensing of her shoulders. “I know you think I’m being a hard ass, but if you wanna actually do this then you gotta commit alright? No more of that shit from earlier.”

There’s a man walking with a big fluffy dog, well more like the dog’s walking him with the way the dog’s pulling him down the street. Harleen’s lip quirks up as she sees him struggle to keep hold of the lead. Mom and dad would never let her get a goldfish, let alone a dog. Her brother, Barry would’ve probably killed it anyhow. He’s like a boy version of that little bitch from that film she watched, _Finding Nemo_.

“-arly? Harleen!”

Harleen jolts in her chair. “Sorry, mom.”

Sharon exhales harshly, expelling a load of smoke in the car. “Did you hear a word I just said?”

“Err, yeah,” Harleen mutters, cringing.

Harleen looks up from her lap to see her mom rolling her eyes. She remembers seeing those blue eyes, so like hers, look at her with a kind of warmth when she was younger. She still remembers the warm fuzzy feeling she’d get when she was able to make her mom smile when she did something really great. Like when she did the splits for the first time when she was five. Or that time two years ago, on her seventh birthday, when she did a backflip off the couch and stuck it. That’s when her mom said she’s was born to be on the USA’s Olympic gymnastics team, much to the eye roll of her dad. _Natural talent_ her mom argued. But she’s not a kid anymore. Her mom’s right, they can’t afford for her to half-ass her lessons. _This is serious. No more fooling around._ But Harleen is trying, her mom’s got to see that. Right? But it’s been a while since she’s felt that nice feeling. Since she’s made her mom proud of her.

“I’m sorry, ma. I’ll do better I promise,” she mumbles, looking down at her hands and fiddling with her sleeves.

The car slows down as they pull into their garage.

“Just close the window and get out, Harls,” her mom mutters, pulling on the hand brake, not looking at her.

Harley winds up the window as fast as she can before snatching her gym bag from the footwell and wrenching the car door open. She blinks against the sudden rush of tears. Big girls don’t cry. _Grow up_.

Squeezing past a new stack of tv’s that are towering against the wall, she opens the door leading into the front room.

Her dad is sat on his lumpy armchair, wrapping an elastic band around a wad of cash when she walks in. He must’ve heard her come in, but he doesn’t acknowledge her. Even after she drops her bag crudely on the floor with a loud thud.

Decidedly finished, he leans forward leisurely and places the bundle on the coffee table, adding to the clutter. There are scraps of paper littered about and a glass dish so crammed full of cigarette butts and ash it’s spilling over onto his collection of the mobile phones that scatter the surface.

He picks up a half-empty tumbler that was resting on her finished homework. It leaves a dark ring stain behind. Drinking a mouthful, he looks at her from over the rim, his hard eyes sweep over her body.

“So?”

“So what?” She crosses her arms over her chest.

“How’d it go?” The corner of his lip curls upwards, but Harleen knows that that smile of his is anything but kind.

Biting the inside of her cheek, she can feel those traitorous tears gathering in her eyes again. “Why? It’s not like you care!” She snaps.

All traces of that ‘smile’ disappear from his face. Harleen drops her eyes to the floor seeing his rough, weathered face twisting into something dark.

“Look at me.”

Her shoulders drop and she wraps her arms around her middle, peeking a glance up at him.

“Watch your tone, kid. Or do you wanna feel the sting of my belt again?” he growls between clenched teeth, still leant forward, his knuckles whitening as his hands clasp tightly around his glass.

“No, dad. Sorry.”

“Christ, Harls. We just got back and you’re already pissing your dad off.”

Her mom follows her in, dropping her handbag next to Harleen’s bag. Her dad leans back calmly into his chair.

“Nothing new there,” Barry cuttingly adds, sauntering into the room from the kitchen, carrying a bowl of something and flops onto the couch.

“Fuck you!” Harley snarls, feeling her face heating up.

“Ooh, watch out! Little Harleen is a big badass,” her brother sniggers. “How goes our famous gymnast?”

“How goes you being a famous Rockstar?”

Barry scowls and opens his mouth to reply but their mom cuts in. “Stop fronting, both of yous,” she shouts on her way to the kitchen.

After a moment where they glower at each other, Harleen simply huffs and plonks down next to him.

“Watch ‘cha eating?” she asks, tucking her feet up.

“It’s-”

A loud series of knocks on the front door startles all four of them. Her mom pokes her head around the kitchen doorframe when the bangings escalate. She’s looking at her dad with a frown.

“Nick, who-?”

“N.Y.P.D. Mr Quinzel, open up,” a muffled yet stern voice calls from outside.

Barry’s fork freezes mid-air as her dad swears loudly. Springing up he drops his glass on the table and frantically gathers the money and phones.

“Shit, Sharon. Fuck!” He darts around wildly, his eyes flittering about the room.

“Dad,” Harley hesitates, flinching at the persistently loud blows against the door. “What’s going on?”

“Open the door. Or we’ll force entry.” The deep voice calls again.

“Dad?” she feels herself starting to panic now, watching her usually indifferent dad dash about like a man possessed.

“Sharon, quick! You’ve got to-”

A deafening crash splits the air, as the front door’s smashed open. Harleen stills, a cold wave of fear dousing her body. Blood rushes around her ears as the loud yells now fill the house and heavy footfalls storm their way in.

“Dad!” Harleen screams but doesn’t move. She can’t move. It’s as if her bones have turned to stone or have completely disappeared. Her eyes widen and all she can do is stare in horror as a load of tall, armed and uniformed men spill into the living room. Her dad throws the cash and phones into the corner of the room and spins to meet them. Her throat completely dries up, the screams dying in her throat, at seeing the officers raise their guns at her dad.

“Mr Quinzel you’re under arrest, you have the right to remain silent.” An officer says to him while another two officers approach. Her dad backs up, his face curling into a sneer. Her mum runs in, screaming, but is held back by one of the approaching men. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right-”

“Get the fuck off me!” He shouts, elbowing the officer that was attempting to handcuff him.

The officer that was talking swiftly moves forward, helping the other to restrain her dad. He’s kicking and cursing as they grab him, upturning the coffee table in the struggle. The glass tray tumbles to the floor, spilling the ash everywhere. Her dad’s glass flies past Harleen’s head and smashes against the wall.

“Get off him!” Barry shouts, jumping to his feet. He is immediately pushed back roughly onto the couch.

“Nick!”

The screams and shouting deafen Harleen. Hammering in her ears like the roar of unrelenting waves crashing against a cliff. She can’t stop her lungs from feeling like they’re going to explode, despite her breath coming to her quickly in short gasps.

They force her dad down on the ground, pressing a knee hard into his lower back and pinning his arms behind him as they do so. She watches the side of his face, bright red and bulging with rage, being squashed into the ash-covered carpet.

“Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!”

Her throat feels scratchy and raw and her eyes burn as tears stream down her cheeks. She can’t stop screaming. She can’t stop crying. Scrunching her eyes tightly shut she clamps her hands tightly over her ears. Make it stop. She shakes her head, trying to wake herself up or help drown out the sounds she doesn’t know. Just make it stop.

_Please, just make it stop._

♦ • ♥ • ♦

_‘And all the kids cried out, "Please stop, you're scaring me"_

_I can't help this awful energy_

_God damn right, you should be scared of me_

_Who is in control?’_

_ \- Control, Halsey_

“Alright gals, today we’re gonna team up in pairs and help each other through our warm-ups. So, pick a partner and let’s start with some sit-ups, alright?”

Harleen hates coach Jones, she’s decided. She hates these ‘team-building exercises’ with a passion. _What a load of shit._ She must know that no one will willingly pair with her. One, because she’s better than all of them and dishes out criticism like they’re starved of it. Like she’s not rude. She’s just the only one with the balls to say what everyone else is thinking. Second, they’re scared of her, because no one honestly wants to be friends with '_Scary-Sharon Quinzel’s devil child'_. Let’s get real here.

She walks off to find a mat that’s far, _far_ away from the others. Hopefully, there’s an uneven class today and she can just do this on her own. Stretching her arms up she starts swinging them in rotations, working out the stiffness.

She cringes, imagining the thought of Jones shoving another left-out kid her way with the presumption that she’ll take care of them. Like what does she expect her to do with it? Walk it? Give it a treat if it does something right?

Finding a mat, she stands on it, claiming it as her own and looks to the other side of the room. As she predicted the other girls are all paired off and giggling happily together, making jokes and making her want to puke. Yet a stab of hurt pricks at her heart. Yeah, it fucking sucks that no one wants to even try to get to know her, but hey she’s not exactly going out of her way either. She doesn’t care and that’s fine and that’s that. Sitting down with a huff she lies back and starts on her sit-ups. Keeping her knees bent and arms crossed over her chest she begins counting. _One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Sev-_

Unexpectedly there’s a firm pressure on her toes and a tight grip around her shins. What? On her next pull up she stops. And stares. There’s a girl kneeling on her feet and holding onto her legs. Her dark auburn hair pinned back from her face reveals soft features and a bright smile. Harley doesn’t recognise her; she must be new.

“What?” she asks, mostly to herself. Is she hallucinating? Did she really hit her head that hard earlier today?

“Hi,” the girl greets in an annoyingly chipper voice.

_Huh, so not a hallucination then._

“Um, hi. Can you like,” Harleen looks at her dead in her stupid twinkling brown eyes with absolute bewilderment, “err, I don’t know? Fuck off.”

The girl blinks.

Then laughs. Right in her face.

“Hah! You’re funny.”

Harleen closes her mouth realising it must’ve dropped open at some point.

“I’m not funny. I’m serious.”

Seriously what is wrong with this girl? Is she screwed up in the head or something? Is that why she hasn’t had the sense to run away yet? Why did Jones send this moron to her?

“Why are you here? Jones send you? Well, tell her I don’t want to work as a pair. I don’t do _friends_.”

“I sent myself. I saw you here alone, so I thought I’d be your partner.”

Harleen is the one who blinks in shock this time. Who is this kid?

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would you want to partner with me?” Harley's voice comes out softer than intended. She clears her throat, “You’re new right? Haven’t the others told you about me?”

“Yeah. Well, they said you’re really mean and scary,” the girl leans closer and tells her in a mock conspiratorial voice, “but then I thought, how scary can a girl in pigtails be?”

Harleen feels herself crack a smile involuntarily.

“Fine.” Harleen throws her a sharp, toothy smile and resumes her sit-ups. “It’s your funeral.”

The girl scoffs, laughing. “Funeral, huh? I’m tougher than I look and you’re not as scary as you’d like to believe, sorry.” Harleen scoffs. She doesn’t sound sorry at all. “I bet you’re real fun. Like the kind that puts the _fun_ in funeral.”

Harleen bursts out laughing only to stop as quickly as she started. She can’t remember the last time someone genuinely made her laugh like that. Feeling a little unsettled but determined to try, she uncrosses her arms to hold out a hand on the next pull up.

“Harleen, but my friends call me Harley.”

Grinning, the girl takes her hand and shakes it. Her stupid smile is still annoying, but Harley can’t help but return the gesture, a little warm feeling starting to kindle in her chest. The slow-growing flame rapidly extinguishes as the girl’s grip tightens without warning and the smile falls from her face. Harley’s eyes narrow and she prepares to rip her hand away.

“Wait.” Harley grits her teeth and braces herself for an onslaught of _‘Harley? Harleen? Like the daughter of Scary-Sharon, Harleen? Horrid-Harleen?’_. This is why she doesn’t try with others, because of this exact fucking reaction she gets. “I thought you didn’t do _‘friends’_.”

_That’s… it? That’s all she says?_

The tension she’s built up relaxes slightly. Seeing the girl smile again, her russet eyes dancing with mischief allows the rest of the tension drain out of her body. It was just an act. She got punked. Harley dramatically sighs and rolls her eyes, trying to hide the real dread she felt for a moment there. They chuckle as Harleen slaps her hand away.

“Whatever. What’s your name?”

“I’m Selina. Selina Kyle.”

♦ • ♥ • ♦

_‘I'm bigger than my body_

_I'm colder than this home_

_I'm meaner than my demons_

_I'm bigger than these bones’_

_ \- Control, Halsey_

“See you later, Harley!” Selina says, giving Harley a quick hug, ignoring the way she recoils and how her arms hang stiff by her sides.

“Yeah, sure. See you later,” Harley mumbles in reply.

Tugging on the strap of her gym bag, hoisting it securely over her shoulder, she waves goodbye to Selina who skips away. How she’s still so hyper this time of night Harley doesn’t know. Harley rolls her eyes (for the umpteenth time that night it feels) watching Selina blow a kiss to her before getting inside a fancy looking whip. Harley flips her the bird in response but smiles when she hears Selina laugh as the car pulls away.

Harley is still floored by the whole turn of events if she’s being honest. Selina wasn’t fazed by her in the slightest. She even stuck with her when Harley was deliberately mean, testing her boundaries. Selina was right, she is tougher than she looks.

Harley starts walking the journey home now that Selina’s driven out of sight, understanding that her mom’s not coming to pick her up again. In spite of which, a dumb infectious smile plasters her face and she can’t muster up the energy to feel downhearted.

Tonight was nice. Even with some awkward moments, like that awful hug. Harley admits that she does kind of like the exasperatingly bubbly and friendly girl. She quietly hopes Selina’s there next week too.

Turning a corner and only a few blocks from home Harley thinks about jogging the remaining distance to keep warm. It’s brick out. It’s almost winter and she can feel it in the air. She can see it even; her breath is visible in the dark night. Her whole body aches from class though and she’s pretty sure Selina deliberately miscounted a few of her press-ups to punish her for one or two snide comments she made. Hugging her arms across her chest Harley quickens her pace a little.

Hopefully, Barry hasn’t stolen all the hot water so she can have a warm bath when she gets in. As she quickens her stride at that enticing thought, she hears another set of footsteps quicken too.

The intimidating sound jars her mind to the present and she focuses her awareness on her surroundings. She thought she was alone. Glancing around her, Harley can’t see anyone. Just an empty dark street that’s softly illuminated by a few street lamps. Chancing a look behind her, it's then she sees him. She guesses it must be ‘him’ with his large build and hunched figure.

A surge of fears spikes through her that’s so strong it nearly trips her up mid-step. _It’s fine._ Though the frantic beat of her heart suggests otherwise. He’s not too close and he’s just going the same way she is. It’s freezing out and he just wants to get home too. _It’s a coincidence._ Stalker shit like this doesn’t really happen. She’s eleven for God’s sake. No one actually kidnaps kids. It’s just scary stories told to children to make them listen to their parents. Look, if she just cuts across this road he won’t follow.

Harley crosses the road and breathes a sigh of relief, deeper than she thought she was holding in when she sees him carry on along the same road. Not crossi-

He crossed over.

_Shit._

_Well, maybe his house is along this road,_ Harley rationalises. But an icy lance of fear tears straight through her. She swallows, her throat suddenly tight and dry. Harley picks up her pace once she hits the next corner and hurries across to the other side. She’s literally two streets away from her house.

She looks over her shoulder.

He’s still following her.

Her mind falters and blanks out for a second as all the warning bells in her head scream shrilly.

She bolts.

She doesn’t look back but can hear his footsteps speed up too behind her. He’s running after her. _He’s actually running after her._ The noise is like thunder booming in her ears. Her legs that were burning from class feel numb now as she sprints along the sidewalk. It feels as if her heart is pounding in her throat as her legs eat up the concrete in quick strides.

This isn’t happening. This isn’t _fucking_ happening.

She must be trapped in a nightmare. Harley rips her gym bag off her shoulder and throws it to the ground, but it still feels as if she’s crawling through tar. He’s going to get her. _He’s going to get her._

“Help me! Please, somebody!” Only just remembering she has a voice, she screams, shattering the tranquil calm of the night apart with her terror. “Help me!”

Harley turns down another street, cursing as she skids around the bend. She’s almost home. Her lungs burn in her chest from her effort yet, none of the lights in any of the houses turn on. A flood of hopelessness swells within her and it chokes her, strangling her cries for help.

She’s on her street now and her eyes lock on her house. Please. Please. _Please_.

She runs up the drive and slams into the door. She bangs on the wood furiously and rattles the doorknob trying to open it. It’s locked.

Her shaking hands dig into her pocket and pull out a key. _Thank Christ it’s still there._ She risks a glance behind her but she can’t see or hear him. He could be staring right at her though. It’s so dark she can’t tell. He might be stalking closer right now. She accidentally drops the key with how much her hands are shaking. Letting out an uncontrollable sob she bends down to snatch them off the ground. _Please_. She shoves in the key, unlocks it and yanks the door open, stumbling in on her rush inside. Harley slams the door shut behind her with such a force that it shakes the few picture frames that hang on the wall.

She made it.

Harley slides down the door in a fit of exhaustion. She can’t hold back the ugly tears that wrack her entire body. She’s shaking like a leaf. She can’t believe she made it.

“Harley, is that you?”

“Mom?” she sniffs, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “Mom!”

She clambers up to her feet and runs to the living room. Her mom’s sat on the couch looking up at her in confusion as she comes hurtling through. Harley dives onto the seat next to her and hugs her tightly, a fresh wave of tears falling from her eyes which begin to drench her mum’s cardigan. She’s home. She’s safe. What would he have done to her? What if she tripped and fell?

“Mom I was so sca-”

“Did you get the milk?” Her mom leans away, shrugging her off.

“What?” Harley coughs. Her mum’s abrasive tone breaks Harley out of the dark spiral that her thoughts had taken.

“The milk. This morning, I asked you to pick some up after your lesson today.”

Harley blinks. She registers what her mom’s saying but it just refuses to make sense to her. Milk? A stranger was chasing her. A man wanted to catch her. A man wanted to….She scrunches her eyes and shakes her head. _Don’t_.

“No, Mom. There was this-” 

“For Christ's sake, Harley. I asked you to do one fucking thing,” her mum shouts, grabbing her almost-empty glass of wine off the table. “And you can’t even get that right.”

“But, mom,” Harley splutters, leaning back in surprise.

“I work ten-even-twelve hour shifts now to keep this roof over our heads and to keep you doing your lessons and yet you woulda thought you’d be able to get a fucking pint of milk when I ask?” Sharon sneers, grumbling into her glass. “Why are you crying? Did you fuck up in class again?”

Her mom spits out her words as if they were venom. Harley doesn’t even have a chance to think, let alone form any words herself. Sharon’s eyes, cold and derisive, search Harleys.

“Maybe your dad was right. Maybe it is a fucking waste of money.”

Harley’s eyes widen and her chest tightens. _She doesn’t care._ She doesn’t even want to hear what Harley has to say. Her mind’s already made up and she just doesn’t _fucking_ care. The sharp realisation cuts her deep. Her mom’s words punch through her, as real as physical blows, winding her. Harley curls into herself as she struggles to speak. What can she say?

“Mom, I’m sorry. I forgot,” she whispers, her voice cracking.

“Just go to bed, Harls. I’ll get it tomorrow.”

The resigned disappointment in her mom’s eyes pierce Harley. It's a twist to the knife she’s buried in her heart. She turns away and stares fixedly at the TV screen and although she must feel Harley’s eyes boring into the side of her face, she refuses to turn back around.

After everything, it’s this cold indifference that makes Harley’s heart shatter.

She stands up and silently leaves the room. Her vision is blurring again as she slowly climbs the stairs.

Harley’s never known her mind to be so quiet.

Walking past her brothers’ room she spots him sat at his window lighting a cigarette. It looks like he’s done this before. Curiously that doesn’t make her feel anything either. She doesn’t feel angry or even sad anymore. She just _is_.

Reaching her room, she closes the door softly behind her and lies down on her bed in the pitch black. She'd normally turn on her bed-side light, but there's nothing left in her to hope that the soft glow will help her now. Not from this. 

She needs… she doesn’t know what she needs. There’s no one left to tell her what she needs. Maybe there never was. Harley turns on her side and stares at the wall. Her eyes are sore and heavy, but she’s never felt less tired. She needs…. She closes her eyes and welcomes the oppressive darkness of her room to swallow her. She guesses she’ll just start with finding her bag in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired soundtrack to the fic: [**HERE**](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLAN1SUi08ivY1uDVKmzpuZAcx1L4pdBih) or copy and paste this link: _https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLAN1SUi08ivY1uDVKmzpuZAcx1L4pdBih_


	2. Chapter 2

_‘You said I would’ve hit the ceiling_

_You said I_

_You said I should eat my feelings_

_Head held high’_

_ \- Devil In Me, Halsey_

Thirteen and it’s the first day of high school.

Harley’s tired but walks head held-high through the gates, her high ponytail swinging animatedly behind her. Her eyes keep threatening to close on her because she’s been up late the past few nights googling ‘high-school fashion’, ‘cute hairstyles for teens’ and ‘Midwood High School layout’ among other search histories. Call it insane if you want but fuck it, there’s no way she’s going to start high school looking like a lost little loser. Ergo, borrowing her mom’s laptop when she passes out at night and doing some preparations for the new year.

Looking down at her faded jeans and worn sneakers she sneers. There’s only so much she can do. She stole some mascara from a store but grabbing a pair of pants and some new kicks along with it would’ve been a risk too far.

Tugging the strap of her rucksack higher on her shoulder – _only carry it on one shoulder. Never both, that’s for nerds_ _apparently _\- she carries on. A couple of books are held to her chest and she’s grateful she found that tip too because it keeps her hands from fidgeting and showing everyone how nervous she really feels.

If the schools’ website was correct, the reception should be just up these steps ahead and through the main doors on the right.

She forces a small smile on her face. _Be approachable. _No one knows her as Horrid-Harleen here.

A loud commotion pulls her attention away to a corner of the yard. She pauses on the steps watching three large teens crowd a skinny rake of a kid against a wall. Harley balks at what the kid’s wearing. _Seriously who wears a tweed jacket to school?_ He’s practically begging to be bullied. Still, seeing him take a forceful punch to the stomach makes Harley wince. She hesitates on the stairs.

Look, it’s not her fucking problem. If she wants to try and fit in, she can’t stand out and help some apparent nobody. Because watch, no one else is rushing to help him. However, Harley’s gut twists when one of the bullies tears the kid’s dorky glasses of his face and tosses them away.

Harley turns away and hurries up the stairs, squashing down the guilt that rises, making her feel a little queasy. _She’s_ not the one bullying him, she argues to herself. Sure, but she didn’t do anything to help him either. Harley’s grip tightens on her books.

_No one else helped him._

So? Does that make her feel better or worse? Harley sighs deeply. It’s too early in the day for this.

Opening the main doors, she joins the short queue waiting to sign in and get their class schedules from reception. Soon enough she’s able to give her name to an old lady and receive her timetable, guide (not that she’ll need it hopefully, having memorized the map on the website) and a booklet of clubs.

Interested, she flicks through the booklet and sees the standard; band _– pass_, science _– meh_, swimming – _embarrassment waiting to happen; she doesn’t even how to swim_, chess _– huge pass_, cheerleader _– hmm maybe?_ Harley thinks she’d be pretty ace at it with six years’ worth of gymnastics under her belt. The popularity that notoriously comes with it would be great for her too. Although she doesn’t think she could let herself trust a group of strange girls not to drop her and break her neck. Also, she doesn’t know how she’d cope having to force herself to be ‘cheerleader-cheery’ all the time. Her cheeks hurt just thinking about it.

“Heya! What’s your name? I’m Shelly.”

Harley looks up from the booklet to see a good-looking brunette observing her. Is she talking to her? Judging by the expectant look on the girl’s face, Harley rushes to answer.

“Er, hi. I’m Harl-” Harleen or Harley? Which sounds cooler? This girl is obviously popular… and staring at her like she’s stupid_. Shit._ _Just answer_. “Harley. I’m Harley, sorry.”

“Right,” Shelly drawls, while Harley internally berates herself for acting like a moron. “So, you’re interested in cheerleading?”

“Huh?” _Eloquent Harls, real smooth._

Shelly taps on the booklet page in Harley’s hands with a long polished acrylic nail. 

“Oh right. Yeah, I-I mean maybe. I was only looking is all.”

“Well, I’m definitely going to be trying out. A load of my friends are too. Have you done any cheerleading before?”

With how pretty and perky this girl is Harley could’ve guessed she’s into cheerleading. Yeah, yeah, judgemental she knows, but she just screams the _hurrah-hurrah pom-pom_ type. She could even give preppy little Selina a run for her money.

“Well… no, but I do gymnastics.”

“Oh, cool. Hey, give me your schedule, I wanna see if we have any classes together.” Shelly asks for her schedule but simply takes it out of Harley’s hands as she fumbles around trying to find it.

“Uh, sure.”

“Cool, we’ve got first and second period together. Calculus and history. God, math first thing on a Monday morning, how whack is that?”

“Yeah, that’s brutal,” Harley scoffs, forcedly trying to copy Shelly’s dramatic cynicism.

Christ, why is this is so hard? She can feel herself grimacing.

“C’mon we can walk together. I haven’t seen my friends around yet, but I know Liv and Maddy have calculus with us too, they texted me a few minutes ago.”

Harley almost trips up hearing Shelly inviting her to follow. With her bumbling awkwardness, she honestly thought she blew her chance with the popular girl. Well what do you know, cheerleaders seem to be more forgiving than what the internet stereotype had her believe. She smothers a small smile behind her books and catches up with Shelly.

She hopes she doesn’t look thirsty walking next to her, because if the physical differences between them are obvious to Harley, they’re going to be dumb obvious to everyone else.

Harley thinks about making small talk with Shelly as they make their way to class, but she’s got no fucking clue what to say. What’s a safe topic? The weather? _Jesus, that’s pathetic._ Ask about her family? _Great idea, genius and when she asks you about yours what are you doing to say?_ Harley closes her mouth with a click. Shelly’s busy tapping away on her phone anyways, best to just leave it for now. Harley looks at her own, bitten down nails and grips her books tighter, trying to ignore the heat she feels crawling up her neck.

“Hey, Shells,” a deep voice leers by a stretch of lockers.

Both Harley and Shelly look up at the voice.

“Oh hey, Bo.” The corner of Shelly’s mouth upturns and her lids lower slightly.

Harley’s eyes widen as she recognises them. It’s the three bullies from earlier that were outside. They’re smirking while looking her and Shelly up and down. She’s grateful when Shelly ends up walking straight past them with nothing more than a smile. Harley swears she can feel their eyes burning into the back of her head.

Harley looks around the hall and only when she can’t find it, she realises what she’s been searching for. She can’t see the tweed-kid anywhere. The guilt barely has time to resurface before she’s savagely shoving it back down again. _Not. Her. Fault._

Harley’s close on Shelly’s heels as they turn into a classroom. It’s quite full already and there are not many empty seats left. Despite this, Shelly makes a beeline through the desks and Harley falters. Should she still follow her? Or is that presumptuous? She’s clearly spotted her friends that she told her about. She doesn’t want Harley trailing after her like a lost puppy all day surely. Harley hurriedly scans the room. A few people have started to notice that she’s stood frozen. _Fuck. Think._ Harley knows she’s standing in the doorway, but she can’t figure out what to do. Should she just go find any old empty seat and sit in it? But she can’t sit at the front, that’s social suicide, or so her research told her. Except she’s on the verge of doing just that, screw what the internet said, it’s better than standing there like an idiot and blocking the entrance.

“Harley!”

Shelly’s voice calling her name sounds like a chorus of angels singing in her ears. Sighing, Harley doesn’t care how embarrassing it might look at how fast she scampers over to her.

There’s a girl with a short blonde bob sat next to Shelly and in front of them on a different table sits another girl with blonde hair, though hers is tied up in a messy bun. Harley tried that look with her own hair, practising along with a tutorial but it was so hard and ended up looking more horrific than cute. This girl has to swivel in her seat to look at Harley as she approaches, having turned her chair around to chat with Shelly and ‘blonde-bob’.

“Hi,” she breathes out, reaching them.

Shelly offers her a smile, but the two other girls just glance at her then back to Shelly with obvious confusion on their faces.

“Liv, Maddy, this is Harley,” Shelly introduces Harley, gesturing at each girl in turn.

“Hi,” Harley repeats. This time adding a half-assed awkward wave as if to say _‘Hi, yeah that’s me, Harley. Now please stop grilling me.’_

The girl with the blonde bob, Maddy evidently, looks her up and down once, raises an eyebrow and then goes back to her phone. The smile on Harley’s face falls.

“Harley was it? Sit down already.”

Harley sits down in the empty seat next to Liv, banging her knee against the table leg in her haste.

“You’re not very graceful, are you?” Liv snickers, “Shelly, I thought you said she wanted to be a cheerleader.”

“That’s what she told me.”

“I said I wasn’t sure.” Harley turns around in her seat too.

“Well good luck. I think you’ll need it,” Maddy sneers under her breath, but loudly enough for everyone to hear. Liv covers her mouth with a hand as she giggles.

A warm rush of blood rises in Harley’s face and she feels her palms starting to sweat.

“Cheerleading isn’t that interesting to me. It’s too…girly.”

Harley didn’t mean to sound so defensive. She especially didn’t mean to spit it out ‘girly’ like it’s something dirty. As soon as the words come out of her mouth though, she knows it was the wrong thing to say when the three girls bristle at the remark.

“Well if you don’t wanna be _girly_ like us, you can hang out with the greasy pot-head skaters. With those holes in your cheap pants, you’ll fit right in.”

“Liv!”

“What?”

Harley wishes she wore her hair down now, just so she could have something to hide her face behind. She honestly didn’t mean anything by it. She thought that was alright, tame even, compared to what she was could have said. She didn’t know what else to say.

Shuffling her books together, she bites down on her trembling lower lip while reaching for her backpack, preparing to find another seat.

“Settle down class. Good morning and welcome to your first calculus lesson of the year. I know you’re all as thrilled as I am, don’t worry.”

Harley slowly lowers herself back down in her seat and begins counting down the hour. She opens her notebook, though the pages remain blank. Her grip tightens around her pen but it refuses to write anything.

Her ears burn as she keeps her head down. The hushed chatter and giggles from the girls around her make her hunch over even more in her seat. Just fifty-four minutes to go. A lone tear falls from her eye and soaks into the blank pages below.

♦ • ♥ • ♦

_‘I won’t take anyone down if I crawl tonight_

_But I still let everyone down when I change in size_

_And I went tumbling down trying to reach your height_

_But I scream too loud if I speak my mind’_

_ \- Devil In Me, Halsey_

The bell rings shrilly and Harley jerks up out of her seat.

She’s been staring at the clock on the wall for the last five minutes of class, focusing on the thin second hand as it makes its way around. Imagining that she's able to hear the ticking sound, she let that repetitive tone drown out the sounds of her teacher and more importantly the whispers from the girls sat around her.

Sliding her notebooks off her desk, having already packed everything else away, she darts to the door and is the first to leave.

The hallway is slowly being filled again as other classes also let out. She barrels through, ducking her head as she turns a corner and opens a door to her right. She beelines to an empty cubicle that’s a few away from the occupied ones. Sitting down on the lid of the toilet, she buries her face in her hands.

She couldn’t even last one day without fucking up and running to hide in the bathroom. _All that prep for nothing_. Releasing a sigh, she loses her energy to be angry. It was only a matter of time. Everyone saw through her and it’s not like she didn’t expect this to happen, despite all her hopes. She thought that maybe, just once, that things would turn out differently this time. She made a real effort but look where it got her. It was only a matter of time; how long till she would fuck the next thing up? She was never cut out to try and fit in. She’s stood out all her life and never for the better. Why did she think high school was going to be any different?

Deflating in quiet acceptance, she opens her bag and places the rest of her books inside.

Part of Harley feels like she should scream at how unfair it all is, but that part is small, bruised and easily knocked aside. She refuses to be weak and surrender to that pitiful self. She’s never needed friends - never needed anyone. She doesn’t need to be liked to make it through high school. It would’ve been easier sure, but her life’s never been a walk in the park, so why would it suddenly change for her now? Because she had simply hoped? Hoping and praying has done fuck all for her so far. She had to learn to run before she crawled and no one's offered her a helping hand along the way when she stumbled. She’s no stranger to harsh lessons and being alone. She’s got to just suck it up and deal with it.

Her mouth settles in a tight line.

“Wake up,” she grumbles to herself.

After flushing the toilet for appearance's sake, she unlocks the door and heads over to the sinks. She washes her hands, peripherally noting that she’s alone – everyone else must’ve headed to their next class already.

Looking in the mirror above she narrows her eyes at her reflection. She makes a face and sticks her tongue out at it. Reaching up she tugs her hair tie out and lets her hair fall in soft sandy colored waves around her. Musing it up with her damp hands she shakes it out and smiles. Looking and feeling more like herself, she spins on her heel and practically skips out the bathroom, leaving all the fucks she should give behind her.

The hallway is empty too when she steps out. What was next her class? History? Damn, Shelly’s in that class too. Oh well, she’ll sit on her own and just focus on the class. If anyone tries to start something, then they can catch her hands.

Since that night, the one she doesn’t like to think about, she’s been teaching herself a little self-defence every week when she has the chance, with the help of YouTube. God knows her mom would probably have a stroke if she asked for money to attend more lessons. Harley has to steal from her or Barry just to keep her in gymnastics lessons some weeks.

She’s turning the corner when she crashes into someone. It’s only because of her quick reflexes that she doesn’t fall on her ass.

“Shit! Oh sorry. You’re Shelly’s friend, right? You’d better move along and tell no one ya saw nothin’.”

Harley freezes, her eyes wide as Bo – _is that what Shelly called him?_ – shoulders round her. Him and his two mates dragging someone behind them.

A set of piercing ice blue eyes connect with Harley’s as the boys pass. Her breath hitches. The red-rimmed, panicked stricken eyes shock her to her core with just one look. Her gut wrenches at the sheer terror on the boy’s face as he’s roughly pulled along. She falters, accidentally taking a step after them to keep the connection. The door next to the girl’s toilets bangs open and shut behind them as he’s pushed through.

It happened so fast, but Harley identifies the boy as the one in the tweed jacket. Is she really not going to help him again? _He looked so fucking terrified._ He didn’t say anything to her though. Harley unwittingly thinks back to that dark night where her voice had solidified in her throat, where she thought she was going to die and no one came to help her right when she needed it most.

Perhaps making up her mind too quickly, she shoves off the wall and drops her bag on the ground. No one was there for her, but she can be there for him.

Probably looking braver than she feels – _there are three massive jocks in there with him_ – she opens the door they went through and snatches up a mop that's resting against a wall. She can hear raised voices, the shouting and jeering almost drowning out the soft pitiful cries. Harley’s hands start shaking as they hold the mop so she adjusts her grip, tightening it so much so that her knuckles start to whiten.

“So, Scarecrow, what are we afraid of this time? Are you scared of pissing in front of other guys? Is it because you’ve got a tiny dick, Ichabod?” A round of laughter. “What about getting your hair wet?”

Harley jumps out as they start pushing and pulling the boy into a cubicle.

“Hey!”

Startling them, all four boys stiffen in alarm. The one closest to her turns too late to see the hard wooden handle that crashes forcibly on his head. The others recoil when the shaft snaps in half as it breaks over his head and knocks him out cold.

Crap. She didn’t mean to hit him _that_ hard.

None of the boys have time to pick their jaws up off the ground before Harley strikes again. Adrenaline pumping, she panics, blindly whacking Bo in the stomach. She hits him again on his back when he doubles over gasping for air, sending him sprawling to the ground too. Breathing hard, she jabs the broken pole forward in the air, pointing it to the last remaining bully that’s standing. Wide-eyed, he throws his hands up in the air, releasing his hold on the shaking boy’s jacket.

The skinny teen then slips on the wet tiles as he scrambles away, making a break for it. He snatches a discarded leather satchel off the floor while bolting around her and out the door. Not wanting to be left behind when the guys get back up, Harley drops the ruined mop to the ground with a clatter and runs after him.

“Hey, wait!”

Harley bends down to quickly nab her bag too and spots him sprinting off down the hall.

Harley growls, rolling her eyes and sets off to chase him. She’s kind of glad now that she didn’t decide to steal a pair of high-heeled shoes. Imagine running like this in them. She’d have broken her ankle.

“Goddamnit,” she gasps, “wait!”

Finally, she catches up to him when he stumbles, having slipped on his shoelace.

“Jesus Christ. Can you like chill for one minute?” Bending, she rests her hands on her thighs and takes a few deep breaths.

Nothing to get the heart pumping like a bit of spontaneous cardio.

“W-what do you want?” he stutters. Holding his old leather bag in front of him like a shield.

“A breather and a little fucking gratitude would be nice.”

“What? You don’t want anything?” he asks, blinking rapidly behind his glasses.

For some reason seeing those glasses undamaged and back on his face makes her feel pleased.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Money?”

_Money?_ Harley cringes. She didn’t mean to give him the impression that she was out to mug him right after she helped him.

“Err, no. I just wanted to know if you were alright, I guess.”

His mouth falls open and she shifts her weight on one leg, waiting.

“I-I’m fine, thanks.” He drops his head, his hair casting a shadow over his eyes but unable to hide the way his lips from a small hesitant smile.

“Good,” she replies quickly. “So what did you do to piss them off so much?”

“Nothing! I know them from middle school and they had it out for me then too.”

“What? Why?”

“Well I…. They don’t like the way I dress and I didn’t-don’t have any friends so I was-am an easy target. I know I shouldn’t dress this way but-”

“What? No. Fuck ‘em.” Harley feels a sting for writing off this poor kid too soon when she first saw him. He seems more insecure than she is and despite that, he still had the balls to wear what he wanted to school anyway. Unlike her, who pretended to be someone she’s not. The shame and self-loathing churn uncomfortably in her stomach.

“What?”

“You should dress how you want. Don’t let those jocks get inside your head. Wear it like armor.” _Be yourself, screw everyone else. _“Besides it kinda suits you.”

“Oh um, thanks.” His cheeks start to tinge pink.

“Dude!” Harley’s face suddenly feels hot too. “I’m not hitting on you. I was only saying. Don’t make it awkward.”

“Right, yeah of course.”

“You’re making it awkward.” Harley looks away, willing her own blush to disappear.

“Sorry.”

“Stop apologising.”

“Sor-”

She snaps her eyes to him, raising an eyebrow.

“So, Ichabod is it? What’s your next, well I guess current class since we’re both skipping.” She changes the topic before they’re stuck in an endless loop of embarrassment.

“My… my names not Ichabod.” His eyebrows furrow together as he sighs, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“Oh, I thought I heard them call you…”

“They call me that because of our old middle school teacher. He told us all a fairy-tale one day when he was reading out the register because it’s about another person whose name also ends in Crane. I was waiting for that man to turn out to be a heroic prince or something.” He smiles listlessly. “But no. He was a freak and a coward and the whole class laughed. I suppose he didn’t realise that that story would haunt me.”

“What an asshole.” Harley’s outraged. Some teachers clearly don’t understand how cruel kids can be. Mocking him in front of everyone like that, deliberately or not, that’s harsh. She feels even more affronted on his behalf with how apathetic he appears to be about it.

“Or that.” He faintly smirks.

“And why’d they call you Scarecrow? Is that part of the fairy-tale?”

“No.” His eyes glaze over and his expression echoes with fear. “A couple of years ago they, um locked me in a small closet at school during Halloween. There was a Scarecrow in there and…”

“Ah shit, sorry you don’t have to tell me.” Harley winces, feeling bad for making him drag up what’s obviously a distressing memory for him.

“It’s okay,” he says, though he struggles to smile. “I just don’t like cramped, dark places anymore is all. Not that many would, mind. But yeah, it adds to my long list of phobias,” he rambles.

Harley frowns. _How long is his list?_

“So what _is_ your name?” she asks.

“Jonathan.”

He talks so softly. He seems so unsure of himself and it urges Harley to make him smile for some strange reason.

“I’m Harley. Quinzel. Harley Quinzel,” she grins at him, overly enthusiastic and most likely making a complete fool of herself.

That thought wears on her and her smile wilts. _God, she’s such a dork._

“Thanks, Harley.”

Harley forgets about her mortification as Jonathan smiles. It’s so delicate and honest. It completely lights up his face. The artic blue pool of his eyes ripple with some emotion she can’t read and it’s almost painful to for her to watch.

“Uh, no problem.” She glances away. “Wait what are you doing?”

She falls back as he moves towards her without warning.

“Er, I was… I-I was going to give you a hug.” He moves back a step too and rubs the back of his neck.

“…a hug?”

What is it with people? That’s two now who for some reason want to give her a hug only after knowing her a short while.

“Now who’s the awkward one,” he chuckles nervously. His face is a little red but he’s still smiling gently.

“What? No, I’m not.” She slaps his arm lightly. _Goddamn it. Now she’s blushing again_. “You’re the one being all touchy-feely.”

“Sorry, I wanted to thank you and I thought…” He shrugs sheepishly.

Harley feels like she’s just kicked a puppy. Jonathan ducks his head again but not before Harley spies a crestfallen and chagrined look sweep across his face.

Harley clears her throat and shuffles a little closer.

“So what’s your schedule like?”

Jonathan offers her a small knowing smile and rummages a hand through his bag, pulls out his timetable and hands it to her. Harley finds hers and compares them.

“Oh wow, we’re identical.”

“Do you want to sit together?” Jonathan asks quietly.

He looks young, asking so hesitantly like that. Like she might raise a hand at him if he were to ask too loudly. There doesn’t seem to be any hidden motive, ploy, no nothing. Something stirs in Harley seeing the tiny spark of hope shine in his eyes. There’s only the simple yearning of a lonely boy who’s looking at her, of all people, like that. Even after she made him feel awkward by shooting him down.

Harley knows how difficult this must be from him. From what he said he’s been beaten down and humiliated at nearly every opportunity. Yet here he is still trying and putting his trust in her - a stranger.

A tangible weight settles on Harley’s shoulders, but she doesn’t feel exactly burdened by it. She straightens her shoulders and back. She knows in this moment that she won’t let Jonathan suffer anymore, not if she can help it. _He’s too innocent._ She doesn’t care who she has to face, Bo and his band of jocks, grimey Sherry and those other bitches, _anyone_. She might not want any friends, but he looks like he needs one. A good one. Which probably rules out her for consideration, but god damn it, she'll try for him.

“Okay, but,” she warns, putting on slight teasing edge to her voice to try and hide her budding nerves from showing, “I’m known to be quite blunt and rude, I’m just forewarning you.”

The warm feeling in her heart grows and it settles in her mind, knowing that this is the right choice when she watches him cover a genuine laugh with his hand.

♦ • ♥ • ♦

_‘I don’t wanna wake it up, I don’t wanna wake it up_

_I don’t wanna wake it up, the devil in me’_

_ \- Devil In Me, Halsey_

_Three years later._

“I think I’ve almost got it. I just need to balance the chemical formula. Then I can start trailing and error with the volumes and dosage.”

Jonathan and Harley are sat in her room. Jonathan sits cross-legged on her bed, biology and chemistry books scatter around him along with many pages that are scrawled with notes. Harley meanwhile sits on the window ledge, smoking a ‘borrowed’ cigarette from her mother. She stubs the end, flicks the remainder out the window and turns to Jonathan. Hopping on to the bed with a bounce she sits in front of him, jostling his papers, smirking at his glare.

“Oh sweet.” Harley picks up a random page and roughly follows along with interest. It’s covered with different chemical compounds and equations, some scribbled out, some highlighted, but none of them sound familiar to her. ‘_3-Quinuclidinyl benzilate’. _If Harley didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought he’s just making these names up as he goes along. Though having spent nearly every moment together since they met means she knows how insanely smart Jonathan is and how obsessed he is with continuing his deceased father’s research.

“Do you have all this stuff?” She doubts that they could get any of this over a pharmacy counter. Though they can pinch the vials and beakers from the science lab at school.

“Yeah, grandma didn’t throw anything of his away,” Jonathan mumbles distractedly, tapping the end of his pen against his mouth.

“And she’ll let you make this?” She raises an eyebrow at him.

They haven’t openly discussed their home lives or their childhood. Only by dusting over the surface and reading between the lines does she know that his mother was kind and died when he was young and that her death triggered his dad who hurt Jon before he killed himself and that he now lives with his strict and religious grandma, who Harley’s never met. She’s never been round his and she doesn’t mind that, seeing how closed off he becomes when he has to talk about her. Harley thinks that she must be one of those really religious nut jobs, forcing him to pray and shit and would make Harley do so too if she came around. Hell, if she recognises that it’s Sharon Quinzel’s daughter knocking on her door she would probably try and give her an exorcism on the spot.

“She doesn’t even know his research exists. She didn’t believe me when I told her what dad was like - what he was doing.”

She wants to ask what exactly it was that his dad did to him, but from the detailed notes and the haunted look that creeps across his face, she guesses well enough to leave it be.

“You can make it here if you want then,” she offers, “No one bothers me.”

He drags his eyes up from a book. “Sure, thanks. Just don’t touch anything when I start, butterfingers,” he teases, his smile twisting into a fond scowl.

“Hey!” She throws the paper she was holding at him and he laughs as it flutters down, not even reaching him. “So who are you gonna experiment on?”

“That’s the hardest part of all this, ‘cause I don’t know,” he sighs, frowning. “I’ll have to cop a few mice or rats or something I suppose.”

She frowns too. She doesn’t like seeing that defeated look wilt his face.

“You can use it on me if you want.” The words come out of her mouth before she has the chance to think them over. Jonathan blinks in shock at her. “I mean, as long as it’s not lethal or anything,” she adds hastily, forcing a laugh.

“Are… are you sure?”

Harley isn’t surprised at the way he’s gawping at her as if she’s got two heads. She must be insane for even suggesting the idea.

“I’m ninety-nine percent sure it won’t kill you but if it works correctly Harley…” he pins her with a serious frown, “it’s not going to be a nice experience and that’s the whole point of this.”

His apparent concern for her strikes a chord in Harley.

“Aww shucks,” she widens her soft smile into a grin. “I didn’t know you cared for little ol’ me that much, Jon.” Johnathan rolls her eyes at her dramatics and goes back to his book, choosing not to entertain her. “Wait, ninety-nine?” her thoughts catch up to what else he said. “What the fuck is that? So I _could_ die?”

“I highly doubt it, but there’s always the possibility no matter how small.”

His sullenness seeps into her and makes her think. Running her eyes over all his pages of notes, new and old, it sinks in at how serious this is. This is some proper mad scientist shit. _Nerve-agent. Seizures. Hallucinations._ Her eyes land on a book open on a page detailing a pretty, yet poisonous looking blue flower. _Bhutan blue flower. _Harley gulps.

She not sure she understands why Jon is so fixated with making this ‘fear toxin’, especially if she’s right in guessing that his dad used this formula on him to torture him. But Harley is a firm believer of that old cliché; what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger and who is she to deny him this chance to use his old demons for his benefit, particularly if she can help.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Jonathan double-takes.

_Maybe she really is insane._

“Okay. I trust you and I’m feeling lucky, so let’s do it.” She still feels nervousness gnawing at her but the strength of her determination squashes it down.

“Are you sure?” he presses.

“Yeah, I wanna help. Just make sure Bo and Shelly and their army of douchebags aren’t welcome at my funeral," she scowls, pointing a finger at him.

She's happy that she got Jon to laugh, tearing him away from all his doom and gloom. However, the short reprieve doesn’t last long though as his laugh fades quickly.

“They took the piss out of me again today,” he mumbles. “They were stood behind me in the cafeteria line, giggling and commenting on my clothes again. They weren’t quiet about it either, but I didn’t do anything. I didn’t know what to say back… so I just pretended like I couldn’t hear them.” He runs a hand roughly through his dark chocolate-cherry brown hair and sighs loudly. “I’m such a coward.”

“Fuck off,” Harley snaps, “No you’re not! What did they say to you?”

He mutters something under his breath.

“Jon…”

After releasing another sharp sigh, he confesses. “Shelly called me a bent freak.”

“She what?”

Harley sees red. That fucking bitch. The girls had left Harley alone ever since she gave Olivia a black eye for a comment too far, but ganging up on Jon just because they’ve still got beef with her makes her blood boil.

“That’s it.” She storms off out the room.

“Harley, what-”

She leaves Jon, staring bewilderedly after her. She doesn’t give him enough time to decide whether to follow her or not when she comes back in, clutching something new, tightly in her hand.

“Harley, what the fuck?! Put that thing down!” Jonathan shouts, throwing a book up in front of his face.

“Jesus, calm down.” She points the small black gun to the floor. “It’s still got the safety on…I think.”

“What the hell Harley?! You want to shoot up the school or something?!”

“What? No! I just thought we could use this to scare them is all.” She shrugs, turning the gun around in her hand to look at it.

“Christ Harley, where’d you even get that thing anyway?” Jonathan asks, slowly pulling the book back down.

“It’s my mom’s.”

“And she won’t notice is missing?” he asks incredulously.

Harley scoffs. “The only thing she notices these days is when her wine glass is empty.” Jonathan frowns. “We could hmm… Oh, I know!” She jumps back on the bed, waving the gun around, making Jon flinch again. “Hear me out okay?”

“Okay, but please for the love of God, put the gun down.”

After raising both hands in the air she sets the pistol gently down on top of a book of his. Meanwhile, Jon runs a hand through his dishevelled hair and Harley feels somewhat responsible for the world-weary look weighing on his face. Her idea is going to perk him right up though.

“Ready?”

Jonathan grunts.

Harley pats her hands rapidly on the bed, imitating a drum roll. “Prom!” she blurts, with little jazz hand movements.

“What?”

Harley doesn’t appreciate his lacklustre tone, so she explains to him. “What do you think girls like Shelly and co look forward to most at high school? Prom! So… let’s ruin the night for them! We can pretend to mug them or hijack their car at gunpoint or something. Brilliant, right?”

Her grin stretches wider watching the features of his face change from confusion to considering. She can’t help but bounce up and down on the bed in excitement. _This could be so good._ The thought of revenge; scaring the shit out of those girls and ruining their perfect night tastes like sweet honey in her mouth.

“I mean… it could work. But we’ve only got one gun. We’d look like pretty pathetic and unbelievable criminals. I could use my toxin.” His eyes lighten up at that possibility. “But I don’t know if I could get close enough to inject anyone without getting caught.”

“You can have the gun then. I’ll use this.” Harley reaches down under her bed and pulls out a baseball bat. “Neat, huh?”

“And where’d you get that?” Jonathan doesn’t muster the effort to even bother to sound surprised anymore.

“I borrowed it.” He raises a disbelieving eyebrow at her which she blinks innocently at. “So we jump out and scare them, but how can we make sure they can’t prove it's us?”

“We need disguises obviously.”

“Well obviously, but what?”

Jonathan ponders for a moment and she watches him come to some sort of epiphany as a dark smile tilts his lips.

“I’ll be a scarecrow.”

She frowns. She wasn’t expecting that. “Uh, really? I mean they used that to bully you, you don’t have to use it to prove anything.”

“No. I’m going to wear it like armor, like you once told me to.”

Harley feels a warm rush of pride surge within her. “You’re right. Go for it, it’s a good idea.”

“What about you?”

“If you’re a scarecrow should I be crow-girl or something?”

Jonathan bursts out laughing. _“Crow-girl?”_

“It was just an idea!” her face flushes but she silently admits to herself that it does sound kind of stupid.

“Harley Quinzel,” he announces, spanning his arms out wide, “crow-girl extraordinaire!” Jon clutches his sides as his body wracks with laughter.

“You shouldn’t laugh at me when I have a gun.”

“Wait!” he stops laughing abruptly and claps his hands together. “I’ve got it!”

Harley rolls her eyes. _Will he let up already?_

“Harley Quinzel!”

“Yeah?” she drawls, confused.

“Harley Quinn!”

He’s looking at her waiting for the penny to drop. His hands splay in a ‘ta-da!’ fashion, but she’s coming up blank.

“What?! Stop shouting my name!” she yells back at him.

“No! Not Harley Quinn. Harlequin!”

“Huh?”

“You know… like the jester?”

“So, I’m a big joke to you, is that it?” she half-heartedly sneers, throwing a pillow at him.

Jonathan rolls his eyes at her, catching the pillow. “No. Just think.” He throws the pillow back at her. “Do you know how many people are afraid of clowns?”

Her eyes widen, reflecting the dark, excited gleam found in Jonathan’s.


	3. Chapter 3

_'You said I’m too much to handle_

_You said I_

_Shine too bright, I burnt the candle_

_Flew too high’_

_ \- Devil In Me, Halsey_

He’s late.

Harley taps her phone against the desk lightly. Her eyes flit between the screen and the classroom door. Jonathan still hasn't walked through when the bell rings and signals their teacher to calls and settle the class. Gnawing her bottom lip, she hides her phone in her lap and checks the screen again.

[7:40]_ I’ve just got my locker u here yet?_

[7:43]_ Where r u? Has Bo stolen ur phone? Give it back asshole_

[7:51]_ Just seen Bo and he doesn’t have ur phone_

[7:58]_ U better not have killed urself with ur experiments or I’ma kill u myself for leaving me alone_

[7:58]_ cos I need ur help in chem obvs_

[8:01]_ WHERE TF R U??_

It’s not like him to be late, but he could’ve simply slept in and she’s worrying about and bothering him _again_ for no reason.

He probably regrets getting her this phone for her sixteenth birthday last year. She couldn’t believe he got her a phone, even if it was just an old second-hand little thing, she was thrilled. No one’s ever got her something so cool and thoughtful before. She almost couldn’t accept it from him because it must’ve been expensive and she knows they both don’t own a lot of cash.

As she thought, he probably wishes he had taken it back now since she’s been sending him a barrage of texts every day for the past year. He’s ignored her before when she pesters him too much. He’s probably just ignoring her again and on his way. Though something doesn’t sit right with her, leaving an uneasy feeling to settle.

She tries to pay attention to the lesson, _something about acids and alkaline_, but the empty seat next to Harley screams louder at her the longer it stays unoccupied. Peeking down at the screen again while the teacher’s back is turned, she notices that her messages are still left on ‘sent’ and that he hasn’t ‘seen’ them. Her leg starts bouncing under the table. She checks the time too. 8:21.

_Alright, fuck this._

“Excuse me, Mr Barton.” She sticks her hand up. “Can I be excused please? I don’t feel so good.”

Her chemistry teacher raises a sceptical eyebrow as she puts on a pained yet innocent look. _Come on._ He sighs and nods, gesturing a hand to the door before going back to the board. She has Jon to thank for the teacher’s kind of liking her. He’s a good tutor and their high grades have put them in their teacher’s good books, despite having a few incidents with few certain people every other week.

Shoving her books in her bag and slyly tucking her phone in a pocket she quickly scampers out the room, taking no notice of the whispers and dubious looks from her classmates on the way.

Alone in the hallway, she tries calling him. It goes straight to voicemail.

Glowering, she walks right past the nurse's office and heads to the reception.

“Mrs Hawking!” she calls, leaning over the counter when she gets there.

Once the receptionist appears from the back room, Harley enthuses her tone with worry. “Sorry miss, I was coming back from the toilet when I thought I could smell smoke coming from the boy’s toilets next door.” The old lady’s eyes widen and she ambles around the counter. “I didn’t wanna press the alarm in case it was nothin’ but I thought I’d tell you just in case,” Harley adds, as Mrs Hawking passes her and hobbles down the hall.

Wasting no time Harley skirts around the counter and accesses the receptionists’ computer. She’s got to be quick, she’s not sure how long Mrs Hawking will be. She’s surprisingly swift for an old girl.

Shaking the mouse, she finds the cursor and opens the student details database. She holds her breath, her fingers shaking a little as they type. Cursing under her breath when she makes a few typos, she searches for ‘Crane, Jonathan’.

A photo of him, along with a record of a house phone number and address pop up on the screen.

_Got’cha._

Getting up and leaning over the counter, she scans the hall for any sign of Mrs Hawking returning. The hallway is thankfully empty. Sitting back down, her hand hovers in the air as she takes a moment to decide whether to risk it.

Picking up the phone next to the computer she quickly dials the emergency contact number written on the screen.

_Come on. Come on, pick up. _

She holds the receiver to her ear but the sound of her heart beating a fast rhythm against her ribs sounds louder to her than the ringing tone.

_Which grandma will be faster?_

“Hello?” A tremulous voice answers.

“Hello, is this Ms Marion Keeny?” Harley asks, imitating a voice that sounds much older and more sophisticated than her own.

“Yes. Who’s this?”

“This is Midwood Highschool, we’re just calling to inquire why your grandson’s not in school today.”

“I called earlier,” she replies, her frail voice tinging with confusion, “He’s got the flu. I’m sorry, he won’t be in today.”

Harley’s head snaps to the side hearing the faint sound of heels clicking growing louder.

“Okay. Thank you, Ms Keeny.” Harley hangs up on her.

Almost dropping her mobile in her haste, she snaps a picture of the address on the screen, closes the window down and jumps up out of the chair.

With not a moment too soon apparently as Mrs Hawking walks into view. She shoots Harley a suspicious look, her eyes raking over her no doubt flustered face as she tries to lean casually against the counter.

“What are you doing?” she snaps, moving past Harley, squinting her eyes as she scans the office.

“Oh, nothing. Did you find them?”

“No.”

“Oh well, better safe than sorry, right?” Harley dances away, smiling ruefully at the glare directed at her. “See you later, Mrs Hawking!”

Harley heads to the front doors. Smirking as she leaves the old woman muttering about _‘rotten troublemakers’ _behind her.

♦ • ♥ • ♦

_‘Gotta wake up, gotta wake up,_

_Gotta wake up, come back to life’_

_ \- Devil In Me, Halsey_

Conveniently Jonathan’s grandma's house isn’t too far from the school. It’s only a half-hour walk. Even if it was over an hour away she would still go.

There’s no way Jonathan’s got the flu. His nan was lying. But why? Harley hasn’t got a clue, but she’s determined to find out. She needs to know if he’s alright.

As much as Harley complains about it, she knows that school is a sort of retreat for them - a breakaway in their day from their shitty lives at home. He wouldn’t skip school for no reason and from what she knows of his nan, she doesn’t sound like the type who would cover for him if he wanted a day off.

_Something’s wrong._

He seemed fine yesterday at school, a little tired maybe, judging by the dark bags under his eyes, but otherwise fine. He didn’t seem ill. Definitely not with the flu anyway. He was quiet but he usually is. Harley wishes she could read him better. She gives herself a mental slap at that thought.

What kind of friend is she if she doesn’t just ask him how he feels? They should talk more openly. They both know they’ve been dealt shit hands. She won’t judge him any less for his and she knows he won’t either. They’ve been together through thick and thin these past four years. She wants to help him and she can’t when she doesn’t know what’s up. They’ve got to get over this bridge of tentativeness and learn that asking, _‘Are you okay?’_ shouldn’t be a big deal. Harley knows Jonathan hates talking about his feelings as much as she does, but if she’s willing to bite the bullet then he’s going to have to too.

Eventually reaching his street, her worry mounts, creeping up her spine as she makes note of the house numbers.

She hopes he hasn’t injured himself with his fear toxin. She told him he could set it up around her’s, but he might’ve gotten impatient. He’s been telling her how close he is to perfecting it. He’s injected a few captured street rats with it to primarily make sure the toxin didn’t kill them and now that they survive and display some aspects of fear, he thinks he’s confident enough to start testing on her - if she’s still up for it. She’ll keep to her promise and help him, but God help him now if he’s gone and hurt himself. _She’ll show him what fear is for making her worry like this._

Checking the address on her phone again she matches it to the house in front of her. It looks fairly normal, nice even. She doesn’t know what she expected really but with the way Jon talks, or lack of talks, about his grandma she pictured a bleak haunted house with crucifixes staked in the garden. Not this cutesy little suburban place with the neatly mowed lawn and colourful roses out front. Still, she takes in a deep breath and opens the painted white gate, peering at the windows as she makes her way to the front door.

After knocking twice firmly she takes a step back.

She hears shuffling behind the door before it opens a crack, revealing a woman who looks older than Mrs Hawking. She smiles down at Harley, the crow’s feet around her eyes becoming more pronounced. _Well, she doesn’t appear to be evil._

“Hello dear,” the same thin voice she heard on the phone greets her. The old woman opens the door a little wider, bracing her left hand against the doorframe. Her smile wilts to a frown. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“Ms Keeny? I’m Jonathan’s friend. Is he home?”

The old woman smiles warmly but not before Harley notices the slight tightening of her eyes.

“Yes, I am. But I’m sorry dear, he’s ill. I’ll tell him you stopped by.” She goes to close the door, but Harley steps up and places a firm hand on the wood and leans a little of her weight into it.

“Can I see him, please?”

Ms Keeny isn’t quick enough to hide her affronted look.

“No, no. I’m sorry.” Harley feels anger bubbling at that patronising smile bearing down on her. “You don’t want to get sick yourself, do you?”

“I’ll be fine. Please, I just want to see him.” Harley forces a smile, keeping the pressure on the door.

“He’s resting,” Mrs Keeny bites out through her clenched teeth. Harley feels her pushing back on her side. She’s surprisingly strong. “He’ll be back to school tomorrow. Now go home, dear.”

“Please, I-”

They both hold still, hearing a muffled cry come from within the house.

_Jonathan._

Harley’s eyes narrow and silence bears down on the cramped porch as the faint noise is carried through the air. _It’s Jonathan, it must be._ Harley feels her lip curl watching Ms Keeny puff her chest out. She must know that Harley heard the noise too.

The wrinkles around her mouth tighten as she purses her lips. The tense atmosphere breaks as she goes to slam the door in Harley’s face. Harley quickly wedges her foot in the gap, wincing as the solid wood crashes against it. She pushes both her hands on the door and shoves it wide open, heedless of the old woman’s indignant spluttering.

“You-you! Get out of my house!”

Harley ignores her, batting away her hands that try to grab hold of her. She pushes past her, knocking her against the wall and dashes down the hallway. She can hear the whimpers a little clearer now though they’re still intermittent. She follows them into the kitchen.

_The kitchen? _It wasn’t what Harley expected but she doesn’t waver.

Trying to block out Ms Keeny’s shouting and the sounds of her hobbling after her, she darts around the island and closes her eyes for a moment. Her head twitches to the side hearing the pained cry again.

_There._

She spins on her heel. The sound comes from behind.

“Jon!”

There are shelves, cupboards and a door. A pantry door. With two latches bolted onto it.

Slipping across the polished floor in her haste, she collides with the door and pummels her fists against it.

“Jon! Are you in there?”

She doesn’t wait for an answer.

Reaching up on her tiptoes she tilts and slides the first bolt back then she crouches down and unlocks the second latch too. Twisting the doorknob, she practically rips the door off its hinges as she flings it open.

The light from the kitchen penetrates the dark cupboard. Illuminating Jonathan’s huddled form sat awkwardly on the floor. He’s tightly crumpled in on himself to fit underneath the lowest shelf. His face is buried into his knees while his arms wrap around his legs and he rocks on the spot rhythmically.

She falls to her knees and reaches a hand forward. He doesn’t seem aware. She’s scared to touch him. She doesn’t want to make things worse. How long has he been like this?

“Jon? It’s me, Harley.” He doesn’t even react to the sound of her voice. “Jon?” Her hand inches closer to the top of his head.

It never makes contact.

A tight grip on her shoulder pulls her backwards. Harley flails and wrenches herself away before her head smashes against the floor.

“Get off me you crazy fucking-”

Harley jumps to her feet. She has to swipe away the woman’s hands as they reach for her again.

“Get out! Get out!”

Harley’s hip catches on the sharp edge of the counter and she hisses. Bringing her hands up to her face, she blocks another attack.

_She’s fucking mental._

Jonathan’s nan smacks her arms, aiming for her head, repeatedly with some force, startling Harley.

Her heart is racing. A voice in her head screams at her to run, to just leave. But she can’t leave Jon. He still hasn’t moved.

“Jon!”

She can hear him rambling though she can’t make out what he’s saying. It’s too muffled.

Jonathan’s grandma grips the tops of her arms and pushes. Harley stumbles to the side but catches herself, grabbing a hold of the counter before she can fall. She plants her feet firmly on the ground in a wide stance.

Bearing her clenched teeth as she turns, Harley lashes out. She captures the hands that fly towards her. The old woman jerks. Harley’s grip tightens as she starts to struggle. Snarling, Harley lets go, thrusting her hands forward in the same motion. Palms landing flat on the woman’s chest, she uses all of the wild energy built up inside her to shove her away.

Harley sees the shock bleeding into her withered, enraged eyes. The jarring sound of squeaking rubber skidding against the floor shrieks out as she watches the old woman fall. Harley stands immobile. Merely twitching when she hears the sickening crunch of her head cracking against the island’s edge. The sound echoes in Harley’s ears. She watches her collapse like a marionette with its strings cut, plummeting to the ground with a thud. She can’t tear her eyes away from the slumped and silent woman.

Those eyes that burned into her with ferocious ire peer straight through her now, glazed and empty.

A vibrant crimson pool seeps out around her head in a grisly halo. It grips Harley’s attention, snapping her searching gaze away from her unnervingly slack, wrinkled face.

The next thing she notices is the smell.

Gagging, she rushes to cover her nose and mouth. When she brings her hands up, she sees that she’s shaking. _Why is she shaking?_ _She doesn’t feel anything. Is that shock? _It happened so fast. Harley thought time was supposed to slow down in events like these.

“Har-Harley?” The timid whisper makes her turn around.

Jonathan’s shuffled a little out of the cupboard. His eyes widen as he takes in the sight of his fallen grandmother. He looks back to Harley.

She can only imagine what Jon sees on her face.

Meanwhile, rising up through the numbness, a swell of relief fills her.

_It’s Jon. Jon’s okay._

Harley falls to her knees in front of him. Without hesitating, she pulls him towards her and crushes him to her chest. She feels Jonathan stiffen in her arms. Whether it’s from a getting closer look at the scene over her shoulder or because it’s the first time she’s initiated a hug with him she doesn’t know. Not that it matters. She scrunches her eyes, burying her face into his neck. He’s safe. She’s got him.

They hold each other closely. The quiet sounds of their quivering breaths permeate the air. Shortly interrupted by a burst of sobbing.

Jon relaxes further into Harley, his fingers clutching onto the back of her sweater. Harley says nothing. Instead, she rubs her hands up and down his back.

“I-I’m…I’m.” Hearing Jonathan’s voice break feels like a vice clenching around her heart. “I’m so sor-”

Harley silences him by squeezing him tighter.

_She’s sorry, Jon. God, she’s so sorry._


	4. Chapter 4

_‘Now I gotta wake it up, now I gotta wake it up_

_Now I gotta wake it up, the devil in me’_

_ \- Devil In Me, Halsey_

_Eighteen._

Harley skips down a long hallway, swinging a bulky black trash bag in one hand. She dodges past the few people she meets, ignoring their lingering stares. She stops when she reaches a door numbered ‘46’ and raps her knuckles against the wood. She smacks on a stick of gum while waiting for Jon to answer.

Jonathan’s been living in this congregate housing and care facility ever since his grandma had that ‘tragic accident’. She’s relieved that neither of them were found guilty of murder. Old people fall down and hurt themselves all the time…this one just a little more so than others.

_The poor dear was so unsteady on her feet too and who would ever willingly hurt the town’s beloved, old and regular-church-goer Mrs Crane_.

Even if they didn’t believe Harley’s innocence in the short investigation and locked her up, she’d do it all again in a heartbeat if it meant saving Jon from that fucking nutcase.

_See you in hell, bitch._

Jon’s doing alright now he’s in here. There’s not really a great deal of that so-called ‘care’ aspect, but he prefers being left alone anyways, so he’s not that bothered. They’ve given him his own space and free meals every day and if she’s being honest Harley’s a little jealous. She suggested the idea of offing her own folks to get a room next to him. Jon didn’t laugh at her poor joke.

They’ll soon be rooming together anyways when they skip town for college in a few weeks. She can’t wait.

She also can’t wait to show him what she’s got_. _She starts blowing a bubble while switching hands to hold the bag. _He’s going to freak._

Jonathan opens the door. Harley grins, popping the bubble-gum bubble in his face as a way of greeting.

He rolls his eyes and steps aside. Holding the door open wider he gestures her inside.

Upon hearing the door close behind her, she turns and shakes the black trash bag at him.

“Looky, looky!”

“Go on then. Show me what you got,” Jon says, walking over to his desk. It’s set up like a miniature science lab, with the various beakers and tubes spread across it. Harley also spies an open, wooden case filled with several vials, all sealed with an identical dark amber coloured liquid locked inside. Turning the chair to face her, Jonathan sits down and sweeps an arm in a wide motion in front of him with a pretentious smirk.

Jon’s really grown into those sharp cheekbones of his. She’s having to scare off all the fickle bitches who fancy him now that puberty hit him like a truck. No one deserves her little brother. _Even if he is an asshole._ Harley sticks her tongue out at him.

Setting the bulky bag on the floor, she first pulls out her baseball bat, which she tosses to the side, and then an outfit. Her disguise for prom.

Holding it up, she squeals excitedly showing it off to him. It’s a four-block-chequered metallic red and black jumpsuit with a small group of contrasting diamonds printed on each thigh and arm. Attached to the high neckline sits an adorable white satin collar with dangling pom-poms.

“What do you think? Oh!” She squats down, rummaging through the bag again and pulls out a black eye mask and matching jester hat. The two horns sewn on to it are stuffed to hold their shape and also have white pom poms tacked to their ends. “It’s so fucking cute, right?”

“We were going for cute?” He laughs hopelessly at her. “We’re supposed to scare them, Harls.”

“That’s what the bat and gun are for,” she waves a hand flippantly.

“I’d better not show you mine then.”

“You’ve finished yours? I still need to decorate my bat.” She bounds over to him, spitting out her gum in his trash can on the way. “C’mon then let’s see, Mr Scarecrow.”

“Alright, close your eyes.”

_And he says _she_ has a flair for dramatics._

Doing as he says, she covers her eyes with her hands. Though she opens her fingers slightly to spy through.

“No peeking,” he scowls.

Harley giggles and stands up straighter, fully shielding her eyes this time. She hears some rustling and the desire to sneak a peek again grows.

“Alright, you can look now.” Jon’s voice is muffled.

Harley uncovers her eyes and jumps back in fright.

“Fucking hell, Jon.” She recovers and smacks his arm for laughing at her.

He’s got a roughly sewn together bag over his head made of burlap. He’s loosely stitched a jagged pattern across the bottom where his mouth should be, making it look like his lips are sewn together in a creepy smile. His bright pale blue eyes gleam out of the small slits he’s made in the hood.

“Yeah, yours definitely ain’t cute.”

Jon chuckles once more while taking the mask off.

“Is that all you’re wearing?” Harley asks.

He hums. “I’m going to wear it with my suit.”

“Aw, really? Man, I’m going to be so overdressed.”

“Don’t be silly. You’ll look perfect.” He smiles fondly at her.

Harley smiles uncertainly. Whenever Jonathan hints or outright tells her that she’s attractive, she doesn’t believe him. She’s never felt pretty in her life. How can she when her mum points out that she looks too fat for gymnastics and when the girls from school laugh at her poor closet choice. She’s never had the chance to build up that self-confidence that other girls seem to have.

However, having eventually finished school and making it through graduation, she’s waiting on her college scholarship fund she earnt from gymnastics to come through because she can’t wait to blow it on a whole closet, freshly filled with new clothes. Imaging the exasperated look on Jon’s face at the thought has her biting back a grin. She’s finally going to be able to buy and wear what she wants.

But first, they need to get through prom tonight.

“Have you decided to use your serum or are you sticking with the gun?”

Jon’s busy scrutinizing his mask, checking the stitches. “I’ll stick with the gun, but I’ll take a syringe or two with me just in case an opportunity arises. I haven’t tested it on humans yet though, only rats and mice. So it could backfire massively.”

“What about me?”

“Hm?”

“I said I’d help. I still want to.”

He looks up from his lap, frowning. “Harley….”

“No. C’mon Jon, let’s do this.” She places her hands on her hips. “There have been no fatalities, right? So what’cha waiting for?”

Jonathan sighs, running a rough hand through his dark locks. Harley’s somewhat surprised that she hasn’t given him gray hair yet.

She stands there waiting. Watching patiently as he opens and closes his mouth before it sets in a grim line. Cracking a smile at him, he groans.

“I’m only going to say, _don’t say I didn’t warn you_, to make myself feel better,” he grumbles, taking one of the amber vials out of the wooden box.

“Pfft. Fine, shmine. Hit me with it, Doc.” Harley holds out her arm.

Jon mutters something under his breath as tears a long needle from its packaging and attaches it to a syringe.

“That better be fucking clean.”

He then uses the syringe to draw the liquid from one of the vials. Placing the now empty vial back, Jonathan takes her wrist.

Harley feels a spike of panic and fights down the urge to pull away. Jon’s been looking at her carefully though and having sensed her fear he lets go.

Harley snatches his hand mid-air. “No, Jon. I can take it. It’s fine, I promise.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Harley,” he confesses, his voice beginning to turn thick with emotion.

She feels her face soften and clasps both her hands around his. “I want to help you, Jon. Please, I _want_ to do this.”

His glossy eyes search hers.

She doesn’t know what to expect so she has the right to be a little scared. Especially learning from his reactions. Jon’s told her about his harrowing experiences with the formula from when he was a kid, but even he isn’t sure how his new and improved recipe will affect her. Still. Holding her head high she nods; willing him to see how seriously she is committed to this. She gave her word and she’s going to stick to it goddamnit.

“I should be the one to do it,” Jon murmurs.

“I wouldn’t know what to look for or what you’d want documented, so you’d be suffering for nothing,” she argues, “I trust you, Jon. I know you won’t hurt me.”

He offers her a weak smile and Harley blinks away the tingly tell-tale sensation in her eyes.

“Look at us.” She clears her throat with a snort of laughter. “Anyone would think we’re emotional wrecks, not two teens planning to mentally scar some girls when we crash prom in a few hours,” she says, managing to tease a chuckle out of him. “Now hurry up. I wanna paint my bat.”

Jon nods, rubbing his sleeve quickly over his eyes and after receiving a final reassuring nod from her, he takes her arm again. They share one last brief look.

Holding their breaths, they both watch as he takes her arm and rests the point of the needle just below the inside of her elbow.

Harley refuses to turn away or close her eyes. Instead, she grips her teeth as the sharp scratch of the needle digs into her flesh before breaking her skin. She gasps feeling the liquid being injected into her vein.

Having emptied the syringe, Jon pulls the needle out and grabs a tissue off his desk. Harley watches as the little pool of blood soaks into the cloth when Jon presses against the wound with it. With his other hand, he fishes his phone from his jacket and begins a stopwatch timer.

“How long?” she asks. She doesn’t feel any different so far.

“Less than a minute.”

Harley swallows around the newly formed lump in her throat. She feels her heart kick up a faster beat, like its counting down the seconds with her. She looks down at her arm but notices her hands start to shake. She looks at Jon._ Is it because she’s panicking or because of the toxin?_

Jon stands up and gently yet firmly pushes Harley down into the chair he vacated.

“Look at me, Harley.” He squats down and squeezes her legs. “Breathe.”

She didn’t realise she had stopped. She tries to hide the tremors of her hands by covering his with them. She takes a deep measured breath in and out, locking her eyes with his.

“That’s it.”

His soft eyes narrow and darken.

Harley flinches, tearing her hands away. His lips are moving but she can’t hear what he’s saying. His eyes sink back into his head and his furrowed eyebrows somehow grow bushier by the second. Coarse lines etch their way into his skin while his bones break and move under his skin.

She screams.

Jolting backwards Harley falls off the chair. Her chest rises and falls rapidly. Her palms burn against the carpet as he pushes herself away from him. She kicks out her legs to crawl faster.

He raises his hands up but doesn’t move after her.

Harley’s back hits a wall and she tucks her feet up, curling into herself. She stares, her jaw slack at the man in front of her. His face… those eyes….

_Dad?_

“Get away from me!”

“Harley?” His voice sounds like its trapped deep underwater.

“Stop!”

“Hello, Harleen.” It cuts through to her with sudden sharpness.

“You-you’re not real.” In her mind screams a thousand voices. It’s so loud she can’t think. She stares up at him. _But he looks so real_. His stormy sunken eyes rake over her and he bares his crooked teeth in that cruel memorable smile. “You can’t be. You’re-”

“In prison?” He takes a step closer.

Harley scrambles back further, forcing herself into the corner of the room.

“What’s wrong Harley?” He reaches towards her with his arms outstretched. A leather belt materializes in his hands, the buckle glints in the light. “Didn’t you miss me?”

A fierce blaze of panic flares within her. The surge of it shocks the deafening screams in her head into silence. She lunges.

Screeching, she throws herself into him, sending them both tumbling to the floor. She straddles his gut, wrapping her trembling hands around the rough, dry skin of his throat.

“Harley,” he gasps, snarling at her as she presses down.

She says nothing. Her throat is clogged.

Grunting, her dad tears her hands away and shoves her off him. Harley manages to scurry away a few paces before she’s forced to the floor. Her dad turns her over on to her back and pins her arms above her head. Harley yells in his face, kicking her legs fruitlessly as he cages his body over hers.

“Harley!”

“Stop! Stop! Get the fuck off me!”

Harley clenches her eyes shut and tilts her head from side to side. Sobs wrack her body as she relentlessly tries to wrestle him off her to no avail.

“Harley!” The gravelly voice morphs into a younger, more brittle one.

She opens her eyes, squinting as the hard-steely gray eyes lighten into a familiar ice blue. They stare down at her, rippling with distress, as they flit between hers.

Her head smacks back against the carpet. _It’s Jon_.

He hangs his head and slowly releases his hold on her hands. The tears burst freely from her. Her whole frame shakes with the force of her cries.

“_Jon_.”

“It’s okay, Harley. I’m here,” he croaks. He leans back, giving her room to sit up.

She launches up, hugging him tightly with a strength he returns.

“I thought…I thought….”

Jon runs his fingers through her hair. “You’re safe, Harls. You don’t have to go through that again.”

Scrunching her eyes shut, she buries her head into Jonathan’s chest. She struggles to be quiet as she cries. Her tears soak into his shirt, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Concentrating on matching her breathing pattern to Jon’s somewhat steady one, it eventually helps to calm the erratic pounding of her heart.

“Did it help?”

“What?” Jonathan pushes Harley away to look at her.

“Did it help your research?” She wipes the mess from her face and grimaces when she sees the damage she’s done to his shirt.

“Harley, what the-”

“If it helped,” she cuts in, “then I’d do it again.”

Jon’s eyebrows knit together in an angry frown and he exhales harshly. “Harley… you’re insane.”

She quirks a broken smile.

“I thought you were my dad,” she admits quietly, “You completely changed.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She lifts a hand and rests it on his cheek, running a thumb along a prominent cheekbone. He leans into her touch and brings his hand up to cup hers. “If anything, you could say it was good for me.”

Jonathan scoffs.

“You know how angry and terrified I was of my dad. Seeing him then and reacting like that…oh God,” her eyes widen, “_Did I hurt you?_” she chokes out. Harley’s quick to remember what she did. _She strangled Jon. _Her free hand flutters around his throat as she scrutinizes the reddening of his skin.

Jonathan brings his free hand up to links their fingers together.

He smiles softly. “I’m fine, Harls.”

Harley breathes a sigh of relief and drops the hand she has resting on his face. Leaning forward, she rests her forehead on his chest once more.

“I just… I don’t know what happened. One minute you were here and then the next all I could see was him. I was so scared. Until I wasn’t. I felt so… so distant but also so _angry_ all of a sudden. I didn’t think I’d feel angry. I guess I’ve suppressed everything for so long it just burst like a dam seeing him then. It was strange. I _still_ feel strange. Maybe it feels a bit like closure? Like next time I see him for real, I know that I can handle him, y’know?”

She leans back and looks at Jon who hasn’t said a word.

A smile reaches his eyes and a strong warmth sits there, radiating out to her. It stirs a feeling in her she thought she’d forgotten. _He’s proud of her, _she realises. Her eyes burn and it’s impossible to stop her bottom lip trembling as a fresh wave of tears gather.

She’s never been so grateful to have Jon as a friend.

Tugging him back in for another hug, they both laugh weakly because she’s always been so adamant that she’s not a ‘cuddler’. Yet, here she is bawling in his arms like a baby.

She honestly doesn’t know what she’d do without him.

♦ • ♥ • ♦

Four hours later and Harley’s making the finishing touches to her bat.

Jon laughed when she told him that she wrote ‘GOODNIGHT’ down one length to commemorate the time she knocked Francis out with a mop. She added ‘R.I.P mop’ in small letters too, along with a black, red and blue diamond pattern above the white tape that wraps around the handle. There’s still loads of room left but she’s not sure what else she wants to add so she leaves it for the time being. _Maybe a list of all the people she hits or wants to hit with it?_ She snickers to herself.

“I’m going to the bathroom to get ready. You should get dressed too. We’ve only got an hour left,” Jon says, grabbing the hanger with his full suit and tie on.

Harley waves him out the door.

She gently blows on her bat and places it down delicately. Hopping up, she stretches her arms above her head and arches her back. She’s not used to sitting down for so long.

Picking up her costume from where she placed it on the bed, she sheds her clothes and shimmies into the tight but thankfully stretchy jumpsuit. She manages to zip up the back with a little contortion and sits on the edge of the bed as she slips her black high-heeled ankle boots on.

She wobbles on her feet when she stands up but after walking around the room for a minute, she feels confident in them. So confident that when she attempts a cartwheel, she nails it. _Easy._

Flicking her hair out of her face, she stands in front of Jonathan’s full-length mirror and stifles a gasp what she sees.

_She looks…good._

The metallic sheen of the outfit reflects the light, giving it a wet leather look. The material clings to her body, showing off curves she didn’t even realise she had. It makes her legs look super long too - like she’s pushing 5’8 instead of 5’6. She turns sideways and kicks up a heel, admiring the boots.

_She looks hot._

_She feels hot. _

_She feels powerful. _

A bright smile lights up her face and she performs a little pirouette, giddy with laughter.

The door opens and Jon walks through. He stops short seeing her.

“Wow.”

She curtseys, chuckling. “Wow, yourself.” She raises an overly salacious eyebrow at him.

He’s wearing a vintage tweed three-piece suit in a dark blue color. It looks timeless and elegant on him. Though, how it’s a ‘disguise’ she doesn’t know. He’s the only one they know who wears that kind of fashion. She supposes from a distance and in the dark it will look like a regular prom suit.

Jonathan rolls his eyes at her, walking back to his desk.

_She makes him do that a lot._

“You know what would be super cute?” Harley tells him while grabbing her make-up kit out of her bag.

“I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

“If I dyed my hair black and red like this suit.”

“As you wish Harley, but we don’t have time now. Just go with the hat.”

“Fine.”

She pins her hair up and sticks the hat on her head, giving it a little shake once it’s in place. She grins when the little pom poms dance. _It’s not so bad._

Starting her make-up, she begins by dabbing white foundation on her face and it. Is. _White_. Not ivory or porcelain. Pure fucking white, like snow. Once fully covered and looking a bit more like a creepy clown, she applies a moderate amount of eyeliner and mascara before moving on. Next up, lipstick. She plucks a tube of liquid lipstick in a bright metallic shade of red called ‘Devil Wears Prada’ out her bag and carefully coats her lips with it. Smacking her lips together in the mirror, she couldn’t be happier with the way it perfectly matches her outfit. Running her eyes over her reflection she can’t help but feel a boost of self-confidence. _She feels pretty. For the first time ever. _

On a whim, she takes her black eyeliner once again and draws a small heart under her right eye and fills it in. _You’re beautiful Harls, believe it. _Funnily enough, despite the fact that she’s all dressed up in her disguise like this, she’s never felt more like herself. _This is her._

She sticks her adhesive eye mask on and turns to Jonathan, striking a pose. “You’re a genius, Jon. I love it.”

“Well I know that, but wh-wow, Harley,” he looks up from a book and his mouth drops open at the sight of her, “It really suits you. I mean it. You look incredible.”

“Thanks, Jon.” She hopes he can’t see her blush through the layer of white. “You look dashing in a suit as always.”

He waves a hand at her compliment, shrugging on a long woollen overcoat. “Yeah, yeah. Are you ready?”

Harley hums, picking her bat off the floor and her mom’s gun out the trash bag. She hands the latter to Jon, who tucks it inside his coat before grabbing his scarecrow mask.

“Ooh wait,” Harley exclaims, “I need to get into character.”

“What?”

“Knock, knock.”

Jonathan throws her a deadpan look and merely walks out the door.

“I’m a jester! That means jokes,” Harley cackles, skipping after him. “So, knock, knock, motherfucker!”

Jon’s long-suffering sigh sounds loudly down the empty hallway.

♦ • ♥ • ♦

“Ugh, this is taking forever.”

“You getting ready took forever. We could’ve caught them before they went in, but no…. So now we’ve got to wait. You’ve got no one to blame but yourself.”

“Bite me, Jon.”

“I’m a scarecrow, not a vampire.”

“You’ll be _undead_ in a minute…hey!”

“Shh!”

Harley scowls, rubbing her side where Jonathan poked her. They’re crouched behind a low wall, staking out the school’s parking lot. It’s scarce of people but filled with cars. Though they’ve only got their sights set on one. _Bo’s._ It sits around the corner from the main doors. They have a perfect view of both from where they’re sat across the lot.

“What’s the time?” Harley asks.

“11.23.”

“Literally everyone but him and Sherry have come outside,” she groans, “Don’t they want to smoke… or fuck?”

“Christ, Harley.”

She chuckles, watching his lips twist like he’s tasted something bitter.

“Speaking of, lend me a one will ya.”

Jonathan reaches into his coat and pulls out a carton of cigarettes. He takes one for himself before offering the packet to Harley. After taking one she pops her head up over the wall and scans the parking lot for any changes while she waits for him to pocket the box and dig out a lighter.

_Still nada._

Sitting back down with a huff, she leans forward to accept Jon’s gesture to light hers for her.

“Thanks,” Harley says, taking a drag.

Hunkering down, she turns her gaze up at the night sky. There are a few stars out tonight. She can’t remember the last time she took some time out to observe the world around her and reflect. She breathes out a stream of smoke which hides the stars from view.

“Hey, Jon?”

He hums around his cigarette.

“Do you have any regrets?” she asks quietly.

“What?”

“I don’t know I’m just thinking.”

“Are you having second thoughts?”

“Huh? Oh, God no,” she splutters, “No these assholes deserve this. No mercy, remember? I meant like life…in general.”

“Aren’t you a little young to be having a mid-life crisis, Harls?”

She smiles, however it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I don’t think I’d change anything.”

“What? Really?”

“Yeah. I mean… no one _wants_ to have a shit childhood, but without that, I’d never be who I am today, and I like me. I’m _proud_ of me. Even if others aren’t.” Jonathan coughs pointedly. “You know what I mean. I’m proud of you too y’know, you big lump. Just to think, I could have never met you…” she trails off.

_God, it hurts to think where she’d be without her Jon._

“It breaks my lil heart,” she cries theatrically and falls against him. She giggles hearing him grunt, clearly not expecting the sudden assault.

Jostling, he rests an arm over her shoulders and Harley leans into the comforting embrace. She falls silent in the moment, joining Jonathan in contemplative stillness. She takes another long drag of her cigarette.

She might’ve given up if she never met Jon. She still doesn’t know what her purpose is in life, or if she even has one. But as long as she has Jon by her side, she’ll stick it out and see what other shit life has yet to throw at her.

“I never realised how strong I could be,” she mumbles, “How strong _we_ could be,” she adds, “How messed up too, sure. Can’t forget that.” She feels a corner of her lip tilt up hearing Jon chortle. “But sometimes the only way to stay sane is to go a little crazy.”

She tilts her head up to look him in the eye and they share a disturbing languid grin.

The creaky sound of the gymnasium doors closing snaps to their attention and they turn around, peeping over the wall.

Shelly hangs onto Bo’s arm and laughs as they walk down the ramp to the parking lot.

“Fucking finally.” Harley stubs out her cigarette on the bricks and flicks it into the grass. She jumps up, keeping herself crouched as she runs along the wall.

“Harley, wait!”

She hears Jon curse behind her but doesn’t hear him follow.

After a distance she vaults the low wall, ducking behind other cars as she makes her way closer to Bo’s. She glances up every now and then, checking they haven’t come around the corner yet.

The coast is clear and she’s almost there.

She steps out into the road but has to hop back and hide as they appear.

_She didn’t make it. _

_Fuck_.

The pair turn the corner as she’s two cars away from his, but also still on the wrong side of the lot.

_It’s fine. They didn’t see her._

Bo and Shelly approach his car. Harley hears the tinkling of keys, the gravelly sound of Bo’s voice and Shelly giggling at something he said.

As they pass by her, she slinks out from her spot and tiptoes after them. She takes cover behind the next car when Shelly pauses and turns around. She must have heard Harley’s heels clicking against the pavement.

Harley growls quietly as they make it to his car. Bo unlocks it and they climb in.

_Oh, no they don’t._

Harley’s eyes dart around. She can’t see Jon; she can’t see anyone. She looks back to the car. They’re making out in the dark space.

_Good. They didn’t mean to leave._

An idea springs to Harley’s mind.

Darting out, she runs over to the car that faces Bo’s.

She hops up onto the hood and crosses her legs. Resting one hand behind her, she leans into it and feels a dark smirk creep over her face.

Her sharp whistle pierces the air.

The couple freezes. They peer out into the darkness, but it doesn’t look like they can see her. Harley sees them though, their lips moving rapidly. She starts swinging the leg that rests on top of her other as she waits.

The headlights on his car blind Harley as Bo flicks them on. Though hearing their sharp yells of fright has her grinning and squinting through the bright light.

“Howdy there!” Harley waves her hand that grips around her baseball bat. “Oh, don’t mind me. You two lovebirds carry on.”

They stare wide-eyed at Harley in terror.

“Geez guys, I’m not Pennywise. Cut me some slack.” She slides down off the hood of the car. “No? You don’t wanna play with me?” she pouts. She spots a figure walking over to her. Turning back to Shelly and Bo, she grins. “You wanna play with him instead?”

Jonathan walks into the glare of the headlights, hood on. He withdraws his gun from his coat and points it at the pair. Harley cackles, revelling in their screams. She dances around Jon and saunters over to the car. She drags her bat along the hood as she sashays nearer to the passenger window. Meanwhile, Bo’s frantically turning the keys in the ignition. The engine sputters pathetically. Harley taps on the window, but Shelly’s already staring at her, the blood drained from her face.

“Knock, knock.”

The car unexpectedly revs to life and Bo stamps his foot down on the gas. Harley and Jon dart out of the way as the car lurches forward, its tires squealing on the road. She swings her bat, managing to smash one of the rear lights as it peels away.

She stands next to Jon as the car tears out of the car park. Raising his hand, Jon aims the pistol at the car and pulls the trigger. The rear windshield explodes in a shower of glass. Harley cheers excitedly whereas Bo and Shelly’s screams pitch higher. Their car scrapes against a parked car as it swerves.

“Oops. Don’t drink and drive kiddos.”

When it hits the main road Harley and Jon flinch as it pulls out in front of an oncoming car.

A shriek of breaks. The crunching of metal. The shattering of glass. Then… nothing.

The other car ploughed straight into the right side of Bo’s. The hood is mangled as it’s driven through the passenger door. It’s embedded into the other’s framework, morphing the two cars gruesomely together in an unnatural contortion of metal.

The air thickens with an eeriness. The last of Shelly’s shrill screams still echo in their ears.

Harley feels nothing.

Jon lowers his arm gradually and they watch in silence as smoke rises from the cars. Harley wraps her hand around Jon’s free one and tugs him away.

Somewhere in the distance, they hear sirens and garbled cries for help.

They don’t turn back.


	5. Chapter 5

_'I’ve missed your calls for months it seems_

_Don’t realise how mean I can be_

_‘Cause I can sometimes treat the people_

_That I love like jewelry’_

_ \- Sorry, Halsey_

“Hey, can I sit here?”

“I don’t know, _can_ you?” Harley replies without looking up from her phone.

“Ouch,” a male voice laughs, “beautiful _and_ feisty.”

She looks out of the corner of her eyes as a built guy with dusty blonde hair sits down next to her on her right. “What’s your name darlin’?”

_Jesus Christ, is this guy for real? _Harley makes a show of dragging her eyes away from her phone to acknowledge him. _Time to make him wish she hadn’t._ Simply by shooting him a dead-eyed look with an eyebrow raised she watches with wicked glee as his smile wavers and his brown eyes glance away from hers.

“Does this usually work for you?” she asks.

“Does what?”

Harley pointedly looks around the large hall at the many empty seats still available. “Choosing to sit next to the only chick sitting alone to hopefully get into her pants,” she checks her phone, “five minutes before the lecture starts?”

“No! I, er….”

“You’ve got some balls though. I’ll give you that,” Harley snickers.

The guy chuckles sheepishly and rubs the back of his head. “So you got a name?”

“Harley,” she mumbles, tucking her phone away and picking up her first-year psychology course book from her desk.

“Harley?”

She hums before drawling, “That _is_ what I said.”

“Cool, cool. I’m Kyle.”

Harley slouches in her seat and her eyes remain fixated on the pages that she flicks through.

“Sorry I’ll go.” Harley glimpses up to see a dusting of pink color his cheeks. “I just wanted to give you this to see if you were interested in going to this party later tonight.” He slips a piece of paper onto Harley’s desk. She pauses, staring over her book at it in shock. “Don’t sweat it if you don’t want to. I just thought it’d be cool if you were there.” He smiles bashfully. “See you around then, Harley.”

She feels her eyebrows trying to disappear into her hairline as he gets up and walks off, going to sit with some other guys that were apparently watching them.

_Did that really just happen?_

He looks back at her when he sits down, sending her another small but warm smile.

_It really did._

Feeling completely blindsided, Harley reaches forward and picks up the sheet of paper. It’s a flyer for a freshman welcoming party.

She jumps in her seat when somebody else sits down next to her, on her left this time. Whilst mentally berating herself for becoming overly engrossed in a stupid party daydream she looks to see who it is and promptly glares.

“Fuckin’ A, Jon. Where the hell were ya two minutes ago?”

He casts her a blank look as if to say, _busy so?_

“I needed rescuing!” she whispers harshly.

He scoffs. “Harley,” he begins, “If anyone needs rescuing, its _others_ from _you_.”

She can’t help but snort at that and drops her overly indignant act.

“Oh, look.” She waves the flyer in his face which he bats away with a scowl. “There’s a party tonight. Do you wanna go?”

“Well, you know how much I enjoy going to parties. I’d love to…. Shoot myself in the foot that is.”

She snickers. “Alright then, fun sponge.”

“You should go though.”

Harley props an elbow on the armrest of her desk-chair and absentmindedly twirls a lock of her wavy hair. “I dunno….”

“I imagine it would be good for you. You need to let off some steam and a party would be a legal way of doing that for a change. Otherwise, you’ll combust from boredom, or worse, hassle me.”

Jon laughs when she smacks his arm with her textbook.

Harley gnaws her lip as she looks over the flyer again. She chances a quick peek at Kyle who’s joking around with his friends. Folding the paper, she tucks it into her jacket and relaxes back into her chair.

_Ah, what the hell._

♦ • ♥ • ♦

Harley starts to hear the music as she turns the corner of the street. The bass of it vibrates through the air and the ground underneath her heels. The cool night wind licks at her long bare legs but she doesn’t feel cold. In fact, she feels pretty damn hot.

Admittedly she did spend more time than she would’ve liked standing in front of her closet deciding what to wear. She probably would’ve spent even longer if not for Jon’s remark of, _‘Are you telling me that even with all these new clothes you bought you’re having trouble picking something?’ He teased her while he sat on his bed reading. ‘Or are you thinking of impressing a certain blonde-haired-lover-boy?’ _Which she definitely isn’t. She dressed for her and if she just happens to turn a few guys’ heads then so be it.

She eventually decided on these gold and glittery sequined high-waisted hot pants and a black cami top with a deep plunging neckline. Topping it all off with a pair of gold studded black stilettos and a black blazer jacket. She looks killer and she knows it. Nothing can knock her confidence when she feels this sexy. Not even the daunting thought of going to her very first college party, which will be especially intimidating seeing as she’s going alone, but she wasn’t going drag Jon along. Even though she would’ve liked him to come with her, it wouldn’t be fair for her to force or guilt-trip him into coming. She doesn’t mind that much though because she doesn’t have the highest of expectations of this frat house party. She’ll probably be bored off her tits and join Jon back in their room for a movie night or something before the night’s out.

The tempting thought of having a popcorn fight with Jon has her confidently striding up to the loud and busy house, ready to get over this party-hype. The front door is wide open, giving her a glimpse into the crowded space inside. She counts around fifteen people alone milling about the front lawn and porch. _Everyone on campus must be at this party. _A group of lads standing on the grass stop their conversation as they notice her walking up the drive. One wolf-whistles while the others jeer and laugh. Harley merely smirks, flipping them off and continues to saunter to the front door.

Slipping her way inside, her eyes widen as she can barely see over the sea of people. _It’s fucking packed in here._ Squeezing her way through all the sweaty grinding bodies, she makes her way to where she assumes the kitchen will be. There’s no way she can play this out sober.

Thankfully it’s less crowded in the kitchen and she grabs a bottle of beer out of an ice bucket because fuck drinking from the punch bowl that’s most likely spiked with ketamine. Harley sighs after she cracks the top off and takes a long drink.

“Harley?” She turns around. “I thought it was you. I’m so glad you could make it,” Kyle walks over to her with a huge grin on his face and a red cup in hand.

“Oh hi, Kyle.” Harley’s startled by his sudden appearance. She didn’t expect to see him if she’s being honest. Considering how crowded the party turned out to be. Also, largely because of the nagging thoughts that have been lingering at the back of her mind. They’ve been whispering to her that he only invited her for a dare, or to pad out the number of people going… maybe he was on commission? Basically, telling her that there’s no way he personally wanted her to come and wouldn’t admit to knowing her if she showed up. So him standing in front of her now, striking up a conversation has left her speechless.

“Do you want a-oh you’ve got one, cool. Hey, awesome party, right?” he has to raise his voice over the blaring club music.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Do you wanna dance?”

Harley recovers from her shock with a burst of laughter. “I only just got here. It’ll take more than a few sips of this weak piss to get me in there with that lot.”

Kyle snickers and shrugs. “There’s the punch….”

“Aw, hell no.”

“It’s fine, I promise. I’m drinking it.”

Harley says nothing, letting her face say it all as she leans back against the counter. Folding her left arm over her chest, she arches a sceptical eyebrow at him while taking another drink from her bottle. He holds his hands up in the air and chuckles softly, a picture of innocence.

“Do you smoke?” he asks and Harley nods. “Do you wanna get some air then?” She shrugs, following him out the back door.

Harley’s on her guard as she sits next to him on some steps that lead down into the back yard. It’s quieter out here, but not deserted. _A few witnesses are available then._ In the silent moment where he offers her a cigarette and lights it, she can’t help but wonder why he’s still here…with her.

Surely those friends of his from class came to this shindig, why isn’t he hanging out with them, or more importantly picking up any of the gorgeous girls she saw whilst making her way to the kitchen. It looks like he’s been here a while with the pink hue flushing his cheeks and the slight glassiness of his eyes. Shouldn’t he be shacked up in a bedroom somewhere by now?

“What are you thinking about?”

Harley looks away realising that she’s been scrutinizing his face as if she could uncover his secrets solely through the burning intent in her eyes.

“Ah, sorry,” she mutters, “Nothin’ much.”

“So, what got you into psychology?”

Harley coughs out a breath of smoke. “Wow, way to jump in the deep end there.”

“Sorry, I was just trying to break the ice,” he raises an eyebrow and takes a drag of his own cigarette, “I thought it was harmless.”

“No, no you’re right it is. It’s just my answer isn’t.” Harley mumbles under her breath and turns her head away, blowing out a stream of smoke. “Let’s just say it’s not good party talk.”

“Oh…. Are you okay?”

“Am I-what?” she coughs. Her neck clicks with how fast she turns back to stare at him. _Did she hear him right?_ He’s looking at her with a soft look in his furrowed brown eyes. “Err, yeah I am…thanks.” She brushes off the weird feeling it provokes. “So what got _you_ into psychology?”

“Well, I’m going to major in child psychology because of my youngest brother.” Kyle clasps his hands around his cup and looks down into his drink. “He has autism you see but he really is just the sweetest kid.” A fond smile highlights the dimples in his cheeks. “I want to learn how to better help him and others like him.”

Harley blinks. “Shit. That’s really…sweet.” He ducks his head and chuckles. “No, I mean it.” She shifts a little closer to him, making their knees bump together. “Like I’m doing it to purely understand why my family is so fucked up, your reason is…nice.”

For some reason, she didn’t peg him as the caring type - the kind that looks out for the little guy. The world needs more guys like him instead of girls like her. Harley stubs out the last of her cigarette as a frown tugs at her brows.

She’s made choices that she’s regretted and not been proud of some decisions she’s made. But just because she’d rather steal things than buy them, laugh at rather than help someone in pain, it doesn’t mean she’s inherently evil. She wasn’t born this way. She’ll point a finger at anyone who says otherwise. The only thing she did was save herself through the means she had. So, so what if it’s churned her up and spat her out a little bitter and twisted in the process.

Say, for instance, if she was trapped in a burning building with a pregnant woman, a disabled child and Jon, she wouldn’t even hesitate in choosing to save Jon. Does that make her a bad person? Choosing to save her best friend over two strangers she doesn’t know but society and Kyle would argue to be the better choices. Why? Fuck them. Just because it's the right thing to do according to everyone else, it doesn’t mean it’s the right thing for her.

She sighs. _Yep, the world clearly needs more Kyle instead of selfish assholes like her. _She raises her bottle to her lips in a mock toast. _To all the altruistic Kyles of the world. Save us from the Harleys. Blessed be America._

“Can I get you another beer?” he asks, getting up.

“Uh, sure. Thanks.” She cringes as he breaks the long heavy silence. Harley hands him her now empty bottle. _Well done, Harls. You’ve only gone and scared the sweet, handsome guy off. He’s probably wondering why you and your family are so fucked up now you’ve mentioned it. No one wants verbal confirmation that you _are_ as crazy as you look._

“Here you go.” He sits back down next to her, holding out a fresh cold beer.

_He…came back?_

“Oh, thanks.” She takes the bottle from him.

“You look surprised.”

“I…hah,” she tucks her hair behind her ear. “I didn’t think you were coming back,” she forces out a laugh.

“What, really?” He pauses, pulling his cup back down before he even takes a sip, looking genuinely shocked. “Why? You’re interesting and you have the cutest laugh I’ve ever heard.”

She snorts and almost spills her drink over. “Fuck me, dude,” she laughs loudly.

He chuckles along too, leering over the rim of his cup. “Is that an invitation?”

“You really are a ballsy fucker ain'tcha.” She can’t help but smirk admiringly at him and she takes another sip herself. “Well, who knows. Fate favours the bold and all that jazz.”

His grin is playful. “I’ll be sure to count my lucky stars then.”

♦ • ♥ • ♦

Harley groans and rolls over, away from the sliver of blinding light that shines into her eyes. _Fucking sun._ Wait. _Sun? _

She snaps her eyes open, just about withstanding the dizzying wave that crashes over her as she sits up. _Motherf- _She presses her fingers into her temples to soothe her pounding headache. Squinting through heavy-lidded eyes she looks around. She doesn’t recognise the room she’s in, but she does recognise the person asleep next to her in the bed. _What the fuck? _Who’s lying naked. She swiftly checks under the covers. She’s naked too._ What. The. Fuck?_

Images from last night come flooding back to her seeing Kyle’s head of dirty blonde hair tousled up and resting against the pillow. _She ran her hands through that hair and tugged on it as he pinned her against the wall outside. She bit down on his lip as his tongue sought entrance to her mouth. He groaned and jerked his hips roughly into hers. _She covers her mouth with her hand and her eyes widen as she takes note of their clothes scattered about the room. _He helped her lift off her top after she pushed him on to the bed and straddled his lap. She vaguely remembers gritting her teeth through a sharp pain before moaning at the feeling of being so full. Her hips rocked forward into his while his hands gripped her thighs so-. _She bites down on her knuckle. _Well, fuck._

Harley reaches over to the floor and grabs her purse. Digging out her phone she silently curses again seeing the missed text messages and calls from Jon.

[11:16] _Text or call me if you need me to come get you_

[01:21] _I’m turning in, but I’m leaving my phone off silent so you can still call me if you need_

[7:30] _You had better be alive Quinn_

[7:34] _Please text back…_

[7:40] _Missed call from Jon._

[7:48] _(2) Missed call from Jon._

_Shit. Fuck._ Harley checks the current time. 8:13. Quickly she types out a reply to Jon before he thinks of doing something stupid.

[8:14] _Sorrysorrysorry I’m alive don’t worry, I’ll be home soon xx_

Jon replies almost instantly.

[8:14] _…_

[8:14] _You owe me coffee._

Harley smiles softly through the guilt gnawing inside.

[8:15] _You got it! Sorry for making you worry, I love you xx_

[8:15] _…I hate you._ _x_

She chuckles softly.

“Mm, morning.”

Snapping her head around she sees Kyle has turned on his side and is squinting up at her with a lopsided smirk.

“Uh, morning,” she replies.

There’s a bubbling of nervous energy building inside her. What should she say? She’s never done anything like this before. The easy and relaxed look about him though has her tentatively smiling back at him. She never expected to end the night by jumping into bed with him. It was a total spur of the moment, probably a little influenced by alcohol, decision. Weirdly enough she doesn’t regret it. She means it _was_ pretty great. He sure seems to think so too judging by the goofy look on his face.

“Hey, you got the time?” he asks, sitting up and shaking his hair out of his eyes.

“Yeah, it’s just gone quarter past eight.”

“Ah shit. I gotta get going.” He climbs out of bed and starts gathering his clothes.

“Y-Yeah, same.”

Harley grabs her bra that was hanging on the bedside lamp. She fumbles around trying to get the rest of her clothes on. They both dress in silence and she can’t help but think she should say something.

“Uh,” she stammers when they’re finally dressed and he’s about to leave. He pauses, turning back to her. “Do you um, want my number?”

He blinks. “Yeah, sure I guess. What is it?”

She rattles it off and he types it into his phone, sending her a short message of _‘Hi Harley’_ so she has his number too.

“Cool, I got it.”

“Right, well I’ll see you around, Harley,” he quirks a lazy smile again and impulsively pecks her once on the lips before leaving.

Harley stands alone in the bedroom for a moment. Listening to the muffled sounds of campus life starting to come alive for another day, she gently touches the small smile tilting her lips with a finger.

♦ • ♥ • ♦

“Hey B! I’m home!” Harley singsongs as she busts into her dorm room. She juggles two take-out coffees, her purse and a small brown paper bag.

Jon looks up at her from his desk and pins her with a dark scowl.

She bites down on her lip as her guilt resurfaces. She quietly makes her way over to him, her steps slow and measured.

“Jon, I’m sorry for making you worry,” she apologises softly. She places the coffees and paper bag next to him. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”

He sighs loudly and shuffles his chair back. He pulls her close with one arm and hugs her to his side.

“I didn’t want to pester you all night, but I need to know if you’re alright, okay? I wasn’t sure if you were in trouble. I just wanted you to check-in saying you were fine,” he chides without any real heat behind his words. He looks up at her and she feels something twist noticing the beginning signs of dark bags forming under his concerned eyes.

She runs a hand through his hair tenderly. “I know, I’m sorry. If it were you, I’d… I’m sorry.” He closes his eyes at her touch and smiles weakly. “I got you that coffee though, so it’s not all bad,” her tone lilts up, hesitantly cheery.

He grunts half-heartedly and pulls away. “It had better be black with one sugar or you’re not forgiven,” he grumbles.

She ruffles her hand in his hair, knowing they’re okay. “I even got you a cinnamon bun,” she announces haughtily.

“Thanks, Harls.” He takes a sip of the coffee and sighs, relaxing back into his chair. “So where were you last night?” he asks, but by the salacious look that’s plastered on his face, he’s drawn up his own, most likely accurate, conclusion.

Fighting down the traitorous heat rising in her cheeks she puts her hand on her hip and dances away. “Oh, you know… working on my psychology assignment.”

Jon hums, “The assignment with blonde hair and cute dimples?”

She picks up her baseball bat that’s resting by the door and twirls it around, giggling. “That’s the one.”

Jonathan turns to dig the sweet bakery treat out of the bag, a fond yet exasperated look crossing his face.

“You know,” she drawls, waiting till he’s taken a bite before poking him in the shoulder with her bat, “I’m sure he’s got some good-looking friends who bat for the other team too.”

Harley cackles as he erupts into a coughing fit.

♦ • ♥ • ♦

_‘So I’m sorry to my unknown lover_

_Sorry that I can’t believe_

_That anybody ever really starts to fall in love with me’_

_ \- Sorry, Halsey_

[13:48] _Hey, me again. I was wondering if you wanted to take that rain check for drinks tonight? Say around 7?_

Harley presses send and quickly locks the screen on her phone before she can write anything else. She admits she feels a little pathetic asking him out again, but he did seem into her. At least she thought he did. He could’ve been telling the truth when he said he already had plans made for the last couple of times she’s asked him out. However, she can’t help the feeling of self-doubt that comes creeping in.

Jon shoots her a questioning look as he walks by her side to class. She offers him a reassuring smile which she doesn’t think he buys and tucks her phone into the back of her jeans. Grabbing his hand, she swings it between them enthusiastically, much to Jon’s displeasure.

_Everything’s fine. _

As they turn down the hall Harley sees Kyle and his friends talking and laughing. She can’t stop her lips from tilting up in a stupid smile. His back is turned to her, so he hasn’t seen her yet. She opens her mouth to call a greeting but closes it shortly, her quick steps slowing.

“All I can say is damn. That girl’s got some stamina and my God is she flexible.” The guys around him chuckle. “I was beginning to think all the effort I put in wasn’t going to pay off. But you know girls, they love a sob story. It sounds like she’s got one of her own because God sometimes it was tough. You can definitely tell she’s got some mad issues. Like, dude,” he knocks his elbow into one guy’s side, “See? I’m getting non-stop messages from her though, look at this,” he holds his phone up to them, “She’s so damn clingy and won’t take a hint.”

Harley freezes and she feels Jon stiffen beside her. His hand clenches tightly around her slack one. She’s grateful for his grip because it suddenly feels like it’s the only thing keeping her standing as a feeling of a bucket of ice-cold water tips over her.

“Like,” Kyle laughs, “Do you know what the difference is between girls like Harley and a toilet seat?” Something constricts around her heart and squeezes hard. “A toilet doesn’t follow you around after you use it.”

Harley rips her hand out of Jonathan’s and she marches down the hall, her burning eyes train on a blurry Kyle.

A flying fist and the sound of a solid crunch has her faltering and stopping dead in her stride.

A tall guy with dark chestnut brown hair steps out from the group of guys listening to Kyle and throws a vicious punch at his face. His knuckles crash into the side of his jaw and Kyle crumples to the ground with the force of the blow.

Kyle’s groans cut through the sudden tense stillness of the hallway. Harley blinks away her tears and continues her walk up to Kyle though her pace slows down from its previously furious beat. The guy who snuffed him is breathing heavily, his hands still balled up into fists. The click of Harley’s heels draws everyone’s wide-eyed attention to her, but her eyes never waver from Kyle’s prone form sprawled on the floor.

“Sorry _baby,_” she bares her teeth at him in a cruel smile, “I didn’t realise I was being _clingy_. I thought we were taking turns.” Everyone watches in hushed silence as she crouches down next to him. “I mean, I didn’t complain when you clung to me after we fucked and cried in my arms.” She pitches her voice high to sound sweet and innocent. The crowd gathered around erupts into quiet sniggers.

The strain of it soon has her face twisting, mirroring the wrench of hurt inside her. She growls at him, gripping his hair and yanking his head off the floor to look him in the eye. Harley watches with dark satisfaction as Kyle’s face starts to flush.

“What? That didn’t happen!” He tries to protest loudly, but the hoots of laughs overshadow him.

She pats his face roughly, “There, there, Kyle. Nothing to be ashamed of.” She stands up and sneers down at him. “Maybe the next girl who has the misfortune of sleeping with you won’t be so kind when you call out your mother’s name instead of hers.”

The laughs grow louder and echoes off the walls.

“You fucking b-”

“I wouldn’t get up if I were you.” Jonanthan’s deep timbre cuts through the jeering. He doesn’t raise his voice but the cold edge to it carries a sinister undertone that has Kyle visibly swallowing around a lump in his throat.

Harley turns around to face Jon who has stalked up behind her. His teeth grit hard together which she notices through the clenching of his jaw. A baleful darkness fills his eyes which he pierces Kyle with.

She grabs his arm and tugs him away. Her burst of fury leaves her in a rush, deflating her and leaving her feeling hollow. The space it’s made gives room to the hurt that comes come flooding back. She just wants to get out of here.

Biting her lip to stop it from trembling she spares a look to the dark-haired guy who hit Kyle for what he said. He’s already looking at her as she walks away and his amber eyes lock with hers. The anger in his eyes is replaced with worry, but he appears too hesitant to say anything. She hopes he can read the thanks she tries to offer him through hers, but it's hard to express anything without feeling like she’ll burst into tears. She looks away, gripping a hold of Jon’s arm.

_Kyle’s not worth her fucking tears._

“Fucking slut,” Kyle mumbles under his breath.

Spinning around Harley lands a swinging kick between his legs. The crowd hiss and cringe while Kyle gasps and clutches at his manhood.

“Fucking try me, you grimey little shitbag!”

Harley shakes off Jon’s hands and storms off back down the hall.

“Harley! Harley!”

Fuck him_. Fuck him. She doesn’t need this shit. She hasn’t cried in years. She won’t start now because of this dickhead. _

She crosses her arms over her chest and bites her lip so hard the skin threatens to break. She refuses to let the tears in her eyes fall.

♦ • ♥ • ♦

_‘I run away when things are good_

_I never really understood_

_The way you laid your eyes on me_

_In ways that no one ever could’_

_ \- Sorry, Halsey_

“Fucking.” Kick. “Piece.” Another kick. “Of.” And another. “Shit.” Harley finishes with a shout, earning a severe hush from a girl working at a table close to her. “You can fuck off n all.” The girl flushes and ducks her head back down to her notebook.

_Stupid fucking printer. _She kicks it again for good measure.

“You need some help?” A deep voice chuckles lightly behind her.

“I need _you_ to piss off and leave me alone,” she snaps. Turning around, she’s ready to start swinging but her shoulders drop as she recognises the guy.

It’s the guy from her psychology class, the one who snuffed Kyle. His amber eyes look at her with obvious humor shining in them, despite being insulted for no reason. For some reason that pisses her off even more.

“Look I don’t need your white knight ass beatin’ up this printer for me now too. I got it covered, thanks.”

No matter how subtle she catches his flinch and watches as the spark dims from his eyes. Without saying a word, he turns around and walks away.

Harley sighs loudly. Scrunching her eyes shut and pinching the bridge of her nose, she calls out, “Wait.” He pauses and turns. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry, what was that?”

“I said I’m sorry,” she grumbles.

“Oh right, sorry.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “I couldn’t hear you with that pity dick in your mouth,” he informs her nonchalantly.

Harley feels her eyes widen comically and she splutters pathetically.

He snorts at her flabbergasted expression. “Are you offended? My bad.”

Getting over her shock, she burst out laughing. “Sorry,” she apologises genuinely this time, “I’m just not having a good day.”

“Clearly.” He looks around her to inspect the abused printer.

“Can you help?” she asks, “Please,” she adds when he still just stands there.

His stern look is swept away by a sly grin. “Anything for a damsel in distress.”

He comes over and checks out how she’s managed to screw it up so bad while she stands off to the side, studying him.

“So, what? Are you like stalkin’ me or somethin’ now?” she asks.

“You wish,” he scoffs, pulling out the paper drawer. “My white knight senses were simply tingling.” He spares a moment to throw her a pointed mocking look while bent over trying to fix the machine. “Well that and I’m also trying to study over there and your violent attacks on this helpless printer were distracting me.” He tugs out a jammed piece of paper. “Right, that should do it.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” he waves a hand and starts walking off as her pages finally start to print without issue.

“Are you doing the research paper that’s due on Friday?” She doesn’t know why she asked him that. The last thing she wants to do right now is to get close to another guy. Or so she apparently thought.

“Yeah, why?”

“Do you want to work on it together?”

He looks genuinely shocked by her question and she feels so stupid for asking. _She literally just insulted him, multiple times, and now expects him to agree to work with her? Yeah, pull the other one._

“I thought you were a strong independent woman who don’t need no help,” he teases, jutting a hip out and snapping his fingers in quick succession. She could feel herself bristling at the comment but that right there cracks her up.

“Calm your tits, Hollaback girl,” she grins.

He gasps, cupping his imaginary breasts, “Don’t you dare tell me to hakuna my tatas.”

Harley bursts into peals of laughter. “So,” she recovers enough to ask, “is that a yes?”

The smile on his face is kinda dorkish, but she thinks it rather suits him. “I’d say right this way m’lady but I think I wanna keep hold of my family jewels, so I’ll just show you.”

Harley grabs her printed sheets and her bag and follows him to his table. Sitting together they compare notes and she lets him prattle on about something in the DSM 5.

“I never got your name,” she states after a while when they take a quick break.

“It’s Guy.”

She snorts impulsively. She can’t help it. “_Guy_?”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with the name Guy, Harley. My parents just wanted to make sure I felt secure in my masculinity.” He dramatically flexes his arms, but can't hold a straight face while doing so.

“Mhmm," Harley chuckles, "and how’d you know my name?”

He gives her a ‘duh’ look. “I’m your stalker, remember?”

“Is that why you almost KO’d Kyle? You wanna be my one and only stalker?”

“Yep. I wanna be the very best, that no one ever was.” His grin fades as he looks away from her. “But, no seriously. What he did… what he said. He’s a total fucking asshole. I wouldn’t have treated you like that.” He mumbles the last part under his breath, but Harley manages to catch it and the dull ache in her heart disappears for a moment as it’s cradled by his kind words.

She covers her small smile with her sleeve, unable to find her own words to thank him. When he looks back at her she guesses he can see the appreciation she feels by the way his face lights back up.

A pang of bittersweet pain has her wondering if getting close to him will end in the same heartbreak as it did with Kyle.

_He seems nice enough._

_So did Kyle._

_But he seemed so angry when he hit Kyle. Maybe he genuinely likes her?_

“So, you were saying,” she gestures to his notes and he dives right back into animatedly explaining the different strengths and weaknesses of short and long case studies.

_Maybe he’s just another guy who wants to fuck her then ditch her._

Barely listening to a word he’s saying, she runs her eyes over his cute yet handsome face. His happiness really is infectious.

_Maybe he might be worth one final risk._

It’s only when her stomach interrupts them with a loud rumble does she realise she’s been sat with him for over three hours. They part ways with a laugh, an exchange of mobile numbers and a plan to meet here at the same time again tomorrow. Harley leaves the library feeling the most upbeat she’s felt in weeks and it’s all thanks to that goofy feminist with his contagious laugh and warm eyes.

She digs out her phone as it vibrates in her pocket and she feels her eyes widen seeing that she’s got a text from him already.

[18:56] _I saved ur name as Sassy Technophobe btw. Try not to add a toaster or anything to your list of victims by tomorrow, ok?_

Harley laughs loudly and the little flame inside her flickers excitedly. _Yep, totally a dork._


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was trying to picture what Guy looks like in my head and first of all, I was thinking a young Ryan Reynolds, but I’m planning on writing some Spideypool at some point so I didn’t want to include him in this. So then I stumbled across this photo of a young Michael Fassbender and I thought omg, yes, he’s adorable yet still got that sexy edge going on. I hope you guys approve. ♥ - B_L

_‘And so it seems it broke your heart_

_My ignorance has struck again_

_I failed to see it from the start_

_And tore you open till the end’_

_ \- Sorry, Halsey_

_Two years later._

Harley’s lying on the sofa in her dorm room. Her head rests on Guy’s lap and she giggles at his theatrical reading of today’s newspaper.

“The Batman,” he exclaims, then drops his tone to a conspiratorial whisper as he considers, “was he bitten by a radioactive bat? Or is he a bat bitten by a radioactive man? We scream for we do not know.”

Harley’s sides are beginning to ache with laughter. She looks up while he glances down at her with a grin.

He clears his throat and mockingly adopts a serious face before he carries on reading, “The Batman has caused two million dollars’ worth of damage to the city of Gotham in his recent attempt to capture the Joker. Again, we struggle to agree if the destruction caused by this masked vigilante is worth the cost to put the insane and dangerous _Clown Prince of Crime_ behind bars.”

Guy scoffs.

“What?” Harley snickers.

“_The Clown Prince of Crime_,” he quotes it like it’s a question rather than a statement.

“What? You jealous that _you’re_ not a prince of somethin’?” she taunts. “You can be the prince of being a pain in my ass.”

Guy gasps in overly offended outrage. “Right, that does it!”

He flings the paper to the floor and reaches over to her. Harley squeals as he tickles her sides.

“I’m sorry! Stop! I’m sorry!”

Guy relents and sits back with a huff. His mouth is set in a firm frown but his eyes twinkle with glee.

“You’re horrible,” she pouts.

“_I’m_ horrible? My kind heart is the glue that’s kept our relationship together for almost three years.” Guy grumbles and yet he starts running his fingers gently through her hair.

Harley hums appreciatively. “It’s less about your kind heart and more about your slammin’ bod.”

“So, the fickle Quinz only likes me for my body, is that it?” Even with her eyes closed, she can tell he’s smirking.

“I’d say I tolerate you because you’re kind of funny.” Guy splutters indignantly and his hands still in her hair. Harley cracks an eye open and beams up at him. “I’m kidding. Love ya really.”

He looks down at her and his frown vanishes as his eyes soften.

Feeling warm and content, Harley closes her eyes again and rearranges herself on the couch to get more comfortable. “Continue, please.”

Guy breathes a laugh and resumes playing with her hair.

“What do you think of the Batman?”

Harley shrugs. “If some dude wants to play dress-up let him.”

“Overall crime has decreased, but he’s an expensive bill for the city.”

Harley hums. She’s never personally seen the Batman, but then again, she hasn’t really ventured out of the University campus in months. The Upper district itself is relatively quiet anyhow so she’d doubt she’d see him even if she went looking for him. She’d have to cross over to the East End or travel south to the Diamond district if she wanted to get in on any of the real fun.

The feeling of Guy’s blunt nails gently scratching at her scalp remind her of why she hasn’t felt the need to go out and get her hands dirty. Whenever he’s around she always feels grounded. He soothes her violent urges. Seemingly able to whisper sweet nothings to the dark presence in her mind until it curls up, becoming docile and dormant. Harley realises that being with Guy has changed her in a way she didn’t think was possible and remarkably, she doesn’t resent him for it. If anything, she appreciates the calming effect he has on her erratic mind and is grateful that he doesn’t abuse the control he has over her. He probably doesn't even realise the huge impact he has on her to be honest. Harley hasn't told him about her sordid past and so he doesn't realise how fucked up she is, how twisted her mind can be. She knows that she should tell him, he deserves to know, especially after putting up with her for this long. But until the day where her guilt outweighs her selfishness, she'll continue to lead him through this blissful ignorance.

“How’s your Chaos Theory coming along?” she asks. His thesis is about how small changes in reality, can result in very large changes in someone’s experience. It was interesting when he explained it to her. It made her think of them becoming a couple all that time ago.

“Eh, slow. I’ve been working on my Think Drink the past few weeks. Dr Markus has been so generous in helping me with it.”

Harley perks up. “Oh? Does it work?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve made like fifty bottles of the stuff and I’ve only tried like four so far. All it’s done though is made me feel jittery. I suppose I do feel a bit more aware, but we’ll see. I’ve got one in my bag if you wanna try it, but I wouldn’t recommend it just yet. It looks like Mountain Dew and tastes like battery acid.”

“Yeah… I’m good, thanks,” she chuckles.

“How’s your thesis coming along? It’s about Love and Crime, isn’t it? How cute.”

Harley pinches his thigh and sits up, stretching. “Yeah. My rough hypothesis is; what is the worst thing a person can do and still be loved?”

“Ooh, I know! Being almost killed by you ‘cause you drive like a fucking maniac, but I’d still get on the back of your bike because I love you.”

Harley smacks him with a couch cushion. “My driving is _not_ that bad.”

“It’s a miracle you passed your test, to be honest,” he continues, deflecting repeating attacks. “You’ve probably done more damage on the road than Batman – they just stick the blame on him instead of you.”

Harley throws herself at him. After a brief struggle, they call a truce with breathless laughs. Sitting in his lap, his hands on her waist, Harley thinks to herself how lucky she is to have someone like Guy in her life. She honestly didn’t expect anything like this to happen to her. Not with her track record of all the shit that’s happened in her life. A shadowed face in the back of her mind sneers, telling her that this is never going to last. That she’ll ruin it like she does everything else. Leaning forward she presses her lips firmly against his, trying to block out those unwelcome thoughts. She’s finally found someone who makes her feel a semblance of normality. The quiet wistful part of her that’s been wishing for that feeling, ever since she was young, doesn’t want to give it up just yet.

Guy moans softly into her mouth as she runs her nails along the back of his neck and twines her tongue with his. His fingers tighten around her waist and he pulls her closer. Harley can feel his growing hardness through his jeans and it rubs against the growing, aching need between her thighs. Harley shudders as spikes of pleasure shoot through her at the friction.

A loud cough has them reluctantly pulling apart.

A dour scowl turns down the corners of Guy's mouth. The expression looks strange on him as it’s a complete contrast to his usual happy-go-lucky self and it's directed over her shoulder. Turning her head, Harley sees a similar sneer reflected on the recipient's face. Jon.

Sighing, Harley pecks Guy on the lips and murmurs to him, “I’ll see you later, okay?”

Guy grumbles something that she can’t quite hear but lets her climb off him. Once both of them are standing he pulls her in for a lingering kiss before grabbing his bag and making his way to the door. He almost bumps shoulders with Jon as he walks past him, but they simply exchange what appears to be non-verbal threats and death stares as he leaves.

Harley stands there, arms crossed when Jon turns around after Guy shuts the door behind him.

“Why can’t you two just get along already?”

Jon says nothing and walks to his side of the room, setting his satchel down on his bed.

“He’s done nothing to you, Jon. Why do you have to be such an ass?”

Jon's hands clench into fists by his side, but he refuses to turn and face her.

“He’s kind to me. He’s not forcing me to do anything. He’s-”

“He’s taken you from me!” Jonathan whirls around as the anger explodes from him.

Harley takes a step back. It’s never like Jon to lose his cool. He’s always so calm and collected. The heaving of his chest and the unrestrained, wild look in his eyes tell her that what he’s feeling has been pent up for a while. It shocks her. She thought she knew him inside and out. They never kept secrets anymore.

“Jon, I-”

“No, Harley. I’m happy for you, I really am, but you’ve just… left me,” his voice cracks and his gaze drops to the floor, his enraged posture wilting. “You just left me behind, Harls.”

Harley dashes forward and wraps her arms around him. The wrench of pain in her heart twists further at the way he clutches ahold of her tightly and sags against her.

“I’ve got no one but you, Harley,” he whispers, brokenly. “I miss you. We live together and I hardly ever see you anymore.” Harley buries her face into his shaking chest and feels her eyes burning. “I didn’t want to say anything because you’re so happy. I’ve never seen you laugh so much. But… I miss us, Harls. I miss you.”

_She is the worst fucking friend in the entire world._

She can’t find the words. She can’t find the excuse. Instead, she holds him close as the dam inside him fractures and falls. His quiet cries wet her shoulder and her own tears soak into his shirt.

_How long has he felt like this, keeping everything bottled up? When was the last time she asked him if he was okay? How could she be so fucking selfish?_

“I’m sorry, Jon,” she croaks, “Fuck. I’m so _so_ sorry.”

Jon’s control fails him as a harsh sob tears its way out of his throat. Harley wishes she could say something, anything, take his pain away, but knowing that she's the cause seals her voice shut. _She did this._ After a while, Jon pulls back. Stifling his remaining tears, he runs his hands roughly, almost angrily over his face. Harley leads him to sit down on his bed and sits beside him. Turning to face him though, she holds one of his hands securely in hers.

She can’t bear to look him in the eyes, although she deserves to see the pain she’s caused. _She’s hurt her best friend._

“Harley-fuck.”

She feels herself being tugged into Jon’s side as the tears spill over from her eyes again.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she chants, clinging to him.

“Shh, Harls. It’s okay.”

“It’s not fucking okay.” Harley tears out of his arms and forces herself to look into his bloodshot eyes. “How can this be fucking _okay_?”

“Because it’s my fault.” Jon grabs her arms when she scoffs and makes her look at him. “I should’ve just talked to you. I just didn’t want to come between what you have with Guy. He’s good for you,” he adds reluctantly.

“You matter to me too, Jon. I’d do anything for you. I’ll break up with him. I’ll-”

“No, Harley,” he frowns, “This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen. I _want_ you to be happy.” He runs his hands down her arms and clasps her hands in his again. “I’m-I’m just…” he exhales long and hard, “I miss our time together even though I made you think you were a pest.”

“I didn’t think that, Jon. I love spending time with you too. I’m sorry that I’ve been so caught up in Guy that I’ve made you feel like I’d forgotten about you. I can’t believe I-”

“Harley,” he interrupts sternly, “we’re both shit at explaining how we feel, so don’t blame yourself. I should’ve just told you.”

Harley sighs and leans on him, resting her head on his shoulder. “I should’ve seen.”

“I’m not a book you can just read, Harls.”

“You are to me.”

Harley will never forgive herself for this. She’ll spend the rest of her life making it up to Jon. There’s no way she can ever, _will ever_, let him feel like this again. They’ve been best friends for practically a decade and he was afraid to talk to her about this. Forsaking his happiness for hers.

_Never. Again._

“I’ll text Guy and tell him I need a little break. No, shut up and listen,” she talks over him when he tries to interrupt her again, “I _want_ to hang out with you and I’m not just saying that. I miss us too. It’s just taken me up until now to realise how much. I got caught up with this normalcy and got too comfortable in it. I’m just a fucking idiot. So, I’m going to stop being the most useless, horrible friend ever and it will be just us.”

Jon smiles weakly, though a swell of gratitude glistens in his eyes. “Thanks, Harls.”

“We can go back to having movie nights in. You can help me plan break-ins on some stores and complain that I already have enough clothes. We can go and terrorize some people, it’ll be great! I’ll even help you test your formula again.” Jon grimaces at that. “It’ll be like the good old times.” Harley looks at Jon and gently trails her fingers across his jaw. “I’m sorry, Jon. I do love you. I’m sorry I that took your friendship, your loyalty for granted. You mean more to me than you know.”

He lays his hand over hers. “There’s nothing to forgive. I love you too, harlequin.”

♦ • ♥ • ♦

_Five days later._

[9:21] _I’m gonna hang out with Jon again today. He needs some help with his thesis. I’ll text u later. I love u xx_

Harley waits for a few minutes for a reply before she realises that she probably won’t be getting one. Guy didn’t take suggestion of their ‘little break’ well. She knew he’d be upset, but ignoring her texts and calls? It seems odd to her because that’s not like him. He's never been the petty type. He’s was more jittery the last time she saw him, flinching at loud noises and ended up being quite short with her. Harley shrugged it off, putting it down to a lack of sleep and possibly more side effects of his Think Drink. She told him to lay off it for a while, but it doesn’t seem like he listened.

Sighing, she chucks her phone on her bed and makes her way over to Jon. _He’ll come around_.

“I doubt you even need help with your thesis. You’re like a master of fear now ain’tcha? What’s your dissertation on again exactly?”

“The etiology of the fear reflex in primary mammals, including humans.”

Harley bounces as she sits on his bed. His back faces her as he scribbles something down whilst sat at his desk.

“Ooh, so that’s where I come in right? I freak out about my dad again, or feel like I’ve broken a leg in gymnastics and you write down how I cry and scream and try and strangle you?”

Jonathan pauses in his writing. “Crude, but essentially correct.” He turns in his chair. “I’ve made a sort of antidote this time. Though it’s not for you. It’s for me.” Harley tilts her head at him, confused. “When I inject myself with it, it will produce a subtle pheromone in me that will make your induced fear response to me negative.”

“Mhmm, yeah, no. Still not following Doc.”

“Basically, you won’t see me change into something or someone else. I’ll still be me. You’ll simply have other hallucinations or become trapped in your mind until the effects wear off or I give you another antidote which will neutralize the toxin in your system. I won’t give you a large amount though and I’ll be here for you watching carefully so nothing goes wrong.”

“Oh! That sounds loads better.” The thought of Jon turn into someone else again was making her anxious despite her bravado of pretending otherwise. Harley's not sure what she’ll see when she tries the toxin again, but having Jon remain with her this time will make it easier for the both of them. “I didn’t fancy trying to kill you again,” she adds, working off some lingering hesitation.

“Please,” he drawls, “You simply caught me off guard last time. It’ll take more than your skinny ass to trying to choke me to kill me.”

“Is that a challenge?” Harley smirks. Stretching out her leg she pokes his thigh with her toe. “I didn’t use my bat last time.”

He snorts and knocks her foot away. “Such finesse.”

“It’s an art form.”

Jonathan opens a familiar wooden box on his desk and plucks out two vials, one amber and the other clear and translucent. He also picks up two fresh syringes before making his way over and sitting next to her on the bed.

He draws the clear liquid from its test tube first. Holding the now full syringe carefully in between his teeth, he rolls the sleeve of his shirt up on his left arm.

“Do you want me to…?” Harley asks hesitantly.

“No thanks. I’ve got it.” Taking the syringe from his mouth Jon places the point of the sharp needle against a prominent vein in his arm. He barely winces as he pierces the skin and pushes down on the plunger.

“Are there any side effects?”

“Not that I’m aware of. It’s the first time I’m trailing this pheromone.”

Only Harley would think that it’s sweet of him to have made a new drug specifically tailored to help her, because he’s essentially done it to make the experience of his fear toxin less painful for her. She shouldn’t freak out so much if he’s there to guide and anchor her through the experience. _He’s so thoughtful._

“Me next! Me next!”

“Hold still.” Discarding the used syringe, Jon fills the clean one with the amber liquid.

Despite having done this a few times before Harley still licks her lips in nervousness as he smoothly injects the toxin into her arm. She still hasn’t got a clue what she’s going to see and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t a tad scared. Jon’s not become an expert of fear for nothing.

The seconds come and go and Jon’s face remains as his own. He doesn’t smell or look any different but Harley feels a sense of detachment towards him. It’s almost as if he’s sitting behind a thick wall of glass, like she can see him through it, but there's a barrier, a distance between them that makes communication feel delayed. He smiles softly at her and she relaxes a little, glad that his antidote thing works.

“Wait.” Harley looks at the top of his head, her eyes growing wide. Jon startles and scoots back from her, giving her space. “You-you’re growing horns!”

Jon jumps up from the bed and backs further away from her, hands held up. “Harley, it’s me. It’s-”

He’s cut short by Harley bursting into loud cackles. Jon's hands fall to his side, an unimpressed look on his face.

“You should’ve seen your-” Harley points a finger at him but abruptly all laughter stops.

Black inky lines rise up out of her raised arm. It looks like burrowed worms writhing under her skin trying to break through to the surface. Bringing her arm closer, Harley watches with surprise as the thick animated lines take the shapes of letters and join together to form words. Losing their fluidity they settle into jagged scrawls that run all the way up her arm, past her elbow and to her shoulder. Hurriedly she checks her other arm and sees the same branding there too.

_Rotten troublemaker._

_Useless._

_Slut._

“No….”

_Waste of time._

_Horrid Harleen._

_Rotten._

_Murderer._

_Evil._

“No.”

_Shit friend._

_Insane._

_Better off dead._

“No!” Harley furiously rubs at her arms, but the words remain as if tattooed into her skin. “I’m not!”

Jon rushes forward when she starts scratching furiously at her arms, drawing blood. “Harley, stop.” He grabs her hands. “There’s nothing there.”

She jerks away from him and gets up from the bed. Standing in the middle of the room she freezes seeing floor-length mirrors materialize all around her. Reflections of herself all smirk lopsidedly at her.

“You’ll never be normal,” one sneers while the others giggle.

“You destroy everything you touch.” The same voice comes from a different mirror.

“Harley!” She hears Jon shout, but she can’t tear her eyes away.

“Jon would be better off without you.” The spiteful words cut through her with every sharp hiss.

“No one will ever truly love you.”

“Guy doesn’t even know who you are.”

“How twisted and broken.”

“I’m not broken,” Harley screams back at them.

The reflection in the mirror in front of her steps out of the glass and stalks towards her. “You’re not broken because of us. _We_ saved you.” Harley stumbles and her back hits a wall. “We saved you from _them_.” Harley gasps as the reflection keeps walking and strides straight through her.

Tentatively opening her screwed shut eyes, Harley wishes she never reopened them. Her insides turn to ice seeing the pale rotting corpses of Ms Keeny and Shelly Squires standing where the mirrors stood. They stare at her with cold, listless eyes. Their broken, mangled bodies somehow stand upright, like deformed broken puppets barely holding on by a few strings. Their mouths fall open in silent cries as they start lumbering towards her.

Harley slaps her hands over her eyes and her body starts shaking uncontrollably. A warm touch restrains her and she shrieks. Jerking against the wall, her hands fall from her face and curl into fists ready to fight, but she comes face to face with Jon. He’s murmuring something to her and she collapses against him.

“I’m not sorry,” she forces out, her throat feels like sandpaper. Harley didn’t realise she was screaming that badly. “I don’t give a fuck. They deser-I don’t….”

“Harley, shh it’s okay. I’m-”

“Get away from her!”

They both flinch as the front door to their dorm room bursts open. Harley has to peer around Jon, who still has her anchored against the wall, to see the intruder.

The air is punched out of her lungs as her eyes lock on the handgun that is trained on them.

Jon backs away from Harley slowly with his hands raised. “Guy…” he warns calmly, “Put the gun down.”

Harley barely hears Jon over the rush of blood that pounds in her ears. She remains wholly focused on the gun that trails Jon as he moves across the room. Her eyes flick to the man’s face and she feels her stomach drop to the floor.

_It’s Bo._

Only he doesn’t look how she remembered him. He’s heavily scarred and snarling like a rabid dog. There’s an unhinged look in his eye that has the fine hairs on the back of her neck standing up on end. He… no. _The crash. How did he find them? _He was in an ICU last she heard, paralyzed from the waist down. _How is he here?_

She must’ve said something out loud as he swings around to look at her.

“What?” His face shimmers but the enraged look on his face stays. “What have you done?!” he yells at Jon.

Bo raises his gun and trains it on Jon.

“No!”

“Harley, don’t!”

On blind instinct, Harley leaps forward in front of Jon. She collides into Bo, yanking down on his arm. She fails to force him to the ground and a loud crack ricochets through the air. Her shoulder jolts back. The deafening sound leaves a white noise ringing shrilly in her ears. Growling, she finally manages to rip the gun free from his hands.

“Harley!”

She hears Jon's shoes scuffing the carpet as he rushes forwards behind her. He catches her as she falls. Only to stab her in her arm with a sharp needle. Harley shakes Jon off enough to raise the gun she’s stolen. A lance of pain rips through her at the movement and she grits her teeth at how heavy her arm feels. Harley points the pistol at Bo’s surprised face.

"Harley, stop!"

_Crack._

There’s dull thud as something heavy hits the floor.

“Harley! Harley!” She collapses back onto Jon who's kneeling behind her and feels a wave of dizziness crash over her. Jon jostles her in his arms and she hisses. “Fuck! Harley!”

“Jon,” she groans. She weakly lifts a hand up to his face but has to drop it before it reaches him. _Damn, that really fucking hurts. Why does it hurt so much?_

“Fuck. It’s okay, Harley we’ll get you help. It’s gonna be fine.” Jon’s talking rapidly and it’s making her feel even more lightheaded.

“Jon, Bo. Bo he-” The way Jon immediately falls silent and it sets off a ringing series of alarm bells. “Jon, what?”

Turning her head, she thinks Bo might’ve somehow survived and is readying another attempt at revenge. Only he’s lying still on the floor…. Only it’s not Bo.

“It was Guy, Harls.” She hears Jon’s brittle words, but they float over her. “It was Guy.”

Her eyes lock onto the mess that is Guy’s face. _No_. A gaping hole has ripped open his forehead and streams of blood run down into his hair, his face and into his open vacant eyes, frozen wide in eternal surprise. _No_. _It can't be._

“No, it’s Bo,” she whispers.

“Harley-”

“It’s fucking Bo, Jon!” Harley's cries shred her throat. “It can’t be him. It can’t be.” She struggles to get out of Jon’s grip until he gives in and lets her crawl weakly over to the body. _Please, not him. Please. Pl-_ Something shatters inside her and the tears stream down her face when his face doesn’t change. _But... it was Bo_. Guy’s glassy russet eyes peer straight through her. Her throat closes up and she fights to breathe. Until, all at once, the breath in her lungs deserts her in a hoarse ear-splitting scream.

Jon pulls her away from the scene and pushes her onto her back. He places his hands over each other and presses down firmly on a spot underneath her right collarbone. The flare of pain that shoots through her feels dull compared to the rendering of her heart. Her breath keeps catching, strangling her voice mid-wail.

“Call nine-one-one!” Jon snaps, briefly looking up at the open door before turning back to her. “Stay with me, Harley. Harley!”

His face swirls in and out of focus above her. Her heavy eyelids fall shut. The image of Guy’s shocked face is burned onto the back of them. It’s the last thing she sees before the darkness swallows her whole.


	7. Chapter 7

_‘Sorry to my unknown lover_

_Sorry I could be so blind_

_Didn’t mean to leave you and all of the things we had behind’_

_ \- Sorry, Halsey_

_One week and six days after Guy’s death._

Jonathan is pacing around their dorm room when she opens the door. His head snaps up and his already furrowed eyebrows narrow even further.

“Where have you been? You should be resting. What is all this stuff?” He fires question after question at her, but she shoulders past him in silence. Reluctantly Harley hands him a few of the heavy shopping bags when he rushes over, insistent on helping. “You’ve been shopping?” he asks incredulously, “You only just got out of the hospital a few days ago.”

Harley throws the rest of her large armful of shopping bags down on her bed with a grunt. “So?”

“So, Dr Blaney might have volunteered to pay for your hospital bill, but he won’t pay for another. Especially when you’re being so careless like this. Do you want to spend another week in there?” The anger in his voice grates on her nerves.

“I don’t really give a fuck, Jon.”

“For fuck’s sake, Harley. I do!”

Harley’s scoff turns into a few chuckles which escalate into a full-blown hysterical laugh. “Oh, you care, do you?” she shoots him a scathing look, “That’s fucking rich.”

“Harley, that’s not fair.” His shoulders drop along with his tone. “You know I care.”

Facing him head-on, Harley feels her lip curl as she glares. Sneering at his downtrodden expression, she buries the twinge of guilt it evokes in her. “Where were you when I shot Guy, huh? I shot him, Jon and you let me!” She shouts in his face, shoving her hands repeatedly against his chest. Jon just stands there, silently taking the rough shoves. “I shot him, Jon! I shot him.” Her furious tirade falters when her breath catches. Trailing off softly as her vision start to blur, she fights down the overwhelming urge to burst into sobs. Harley knows that if she starts, she doesn’t think she’ll be able to stop.

Only resting her hands against his chest now, she hangs her head. Wiping away her tears detachedly, a wave of numb exhaustion sweeps through her.

“I trusted you,” she whispers.

Jonathan makes a pained sound in the back on his throat. He moves closer to her and tentatively wraps his arms around her when she doesn’t move away.

Harley doesn’t want to be hugged. Doesn’t want to be comforted. But when Jon cradles her to his warm chest gently, like she’s made of glass and might shatter any second, she can’t find it in herself to push him away. She finds it difficult to feel anything but grateful for the blanket of protection and affection his embrace provides. _She doesn’t deserve this._ A stinging sensation spikes behind her eyes and she scrunches them shut, biting down her trembling lip.

“I’m so sorry, Harls. I just froze…. I didn’t know what to do.” Harley fists the material at the back of his shirt as she listens to the struggle in his voice. “I tried to give you the antidote, but I wasn’t quick enough. I’m sorry. I’m _so_ so sorry.” He buries his face into the top of her head, pressing a light kiss into her hair.

A war rages inside of her. It’s been transpiring ever since she woke up in hospital when her memories came flooding back. Three sides battling viciously in her mind. Three different arguments of who’s to blame. They’re all bloodied and bruised now from tearing at each other for what feels like months rather than days.

One voice still screams that it’s Jon’s fault. It was his stupid experiments. His stupid idea. _Except it wasn’t_. Argues another voice that sounds suspiciously like her mom’s. Jon never forced her to do anything, so stop putting the blame on others. It was all her fault. She _wanted_ to help Jon with his formula. She dived in front of Jon, so she’d take the bullet, not him. She’s the one that pulled the fucking trigger. It’s _always_ her that fucks things up in the end. She can’t blame Jon, even if it would be easier. She did this. It was her fault.

_Only_, the third voice whispers, casting more shadows of doubt, _was it really?_

Harley sighs. “I’m sorry, Jon,” she mumbles into his chest, “It wasn’t your fault.”

“It wasn’t yours either,” he’s quick to input. “Though you shouldn’t have jumped in front of me like that. _That_ was stupid.”

“Was not,” she scowls, pulling back to look him in the eye.

That’s the one thing she doesn’t regret from that awful moment. She’d happily take another bullet for Jon without even blinking. She’d be willing to fuck up her shoulder again, ruining it beyond repair, to risk her whole life even, if it meant saving him from harm.

“It wa-what have you done to your face?” Jon grips her chin and tilts her head up, making her golden hair fall back from her face. He stares wide-eyed at her jaw.

It only hurt when she got it done, so Harley forgot all about it until now. She sniggers and doesn’t pull away.

“What you don’t like it?” she smirks. However, through the funny side she feels her smile sharpen with a bite of self-depreciation.

“Harls….”

Tattooed across her jaw in black ink proclaims the word, ‘ROTTEN’, punctuated with two delicate dots either side. The font is ironically quite beautiful.

Harley can’t quite read the look on Jon’s face, but she feels a sense of pity coming from him. Batting away his hand, she grins, forcing her humour to stamp down all her other emotions, “I wanted to give everyone a reason for their stares and gossip.”

“You can’t believe that though, right?” Jonathan asks, his voice barely more than a whisper.

It seems like he’s talking to himself more than anything, but Harley deigns him an answer anyway, shrugging. “Sure I do.”

Harley watches Jon’s jaw clench and it sends a ripple of uneasiness through her though she can’t explain why.

“The parlour you got it from - do they do walk-ins?”

“Yeah,” she drawls hesitantly, “Why?”

“Because we’re going back there next week.”

“Aw, you gonna get a tattoo too, Jon? How so unproper of you,” Harley teases, although she knows his forming plan won't involve him getting inked. Fuck it. She’s up for whatever surprise idea he has in store for her. “Oh! I almost forgot!” _Speaking of surprises._ “I also got this done while I was there.”

Harley pulls off her cropped hoodie and tosses it on her bed over the bags. Pulling down the neckline of her cami top, Harley bears the raw-looking scar of her gunshot wound. She hears Jon inhale sharply. It’s the first time he’s seen it since she’s taken the bandages off. It sits in the crook on the right side of her chest, just below the top of her collar bone and the joint of her shoulder. The dark stippling around the healing gunshot wound caused by the unburnt gunpowder residue has lightened considerably. Yet, it still draws attention to the already fairly large and noticeable raised scar tissue forming in the centre. The scar is larger than she thought it would be, but the surgeons did have to root around inside there to find all the broken fragments of the bullet. _A penetration wound_, they said. The bullet didn’t perforate all the way through and out her back, instead, it apparently glanced off her collarbone, fracturing it and lodged itself into another bone. The dark purple bruising of the skin around it has faded to a sickly yellow colour causing the angry redness of the healing tissue to stand out prominently. _She’s lucky she didn’t end up with a collapsed lung_, one doctor informed her,_ the bullet could've traveled a lot further_. Ha. _Lucky. _She doesn’t feel fucking lucky. To be honest, she doesn’t feel much of anything when she looks at it. She doesn’t _want_ to.

Instead of pointing to her scar though, Harley taps a finger against the black image inked into the undamaged skin to the side of it, nearing the center of her chest. The reason she pulled her top down in the first place. The movement steals Jonathan’s attention and she watches as his face promptly slackens. A swarm of different emotions surge in his eyes and Harley finds it difficult to even name one before he’s flitting through another.

Next to the raw wound sits a small crow, its head hung low as it perches on and looks as if it’s reading the words, ‘You’re Welcome x’.

Harley thought the design was hilarious when the idea struck her and decided to get it tattooed. As Jon remains silent though she does start to think that maybe it is pretty bad in taste.

She doesn’t really know what has been going on in her head the past few days. Ever since she woke up and remembered what she did, there’s been a constant suffocating pressure on her chest. Stifling her tears into Jon’s chest just then was the first real bit of emotion, first real bit of grief, that she’s shown, allowed herself to feel, since the incident. _Incident_. That’s what their University President called it when he brought them into his office to talk about the situation three days ago. She still feels numb from it.

Heading out this morning Harley didn’t have a clue where she was going or what she was going to do. She was simply being pulled along by the aching hole inside her that was desperate to be filled. She tried filling it with new clothes, jewelry, nothing really seemed to help, until she stumbled across that unnoteworthy tattoo parlour.

Jonathan traces a barely-there feather-light touch over the crow. Harley still can’t read him and it’s starting to make her worry. She didn’t do this to spite him. She’s not sure why she did it, but it definitely wasn’t that. It was just for a laugh really. It made her feel something that wasn't crushing for a split second.

Harley opens her mouth, something awkward sat on the end of her tongue, but he beats her to it.

“Thank you.”

It’s Harley’s turn to blink in shock this time. Floored by the quiet reverence in those two simple words, she swallows around the lump in her throat. This was the last reaction she expected to see from him. She was ready for a harsh sigh, cursing or even a blatant sneer of distaste. Nothing like this. Jon's eyes are naked with a regretful solemnity, gazing into hers as if imploring her to understand the weight they carry. What can she even say to that?

The sudden onslaught of emotion leaves her shaking. Jon draws her back in and the sobs finally burst free from the tight cage she had locked them in. The careful stitches she’s sewn to close the hole in her heart tear open, ripping apart at the seams. The grief overflows in a torrent of pain and it brings her to her knees. Jon slides down to the floor with her and holds her tightly as she clings to him.

He says nothing. There’s nothing he can say. Nothing will ease her pain. Nothing but time. She hopes.

♦ • ♥ • ♦

_Seven days after Guy’s death. _

Harley’s right arm sits awkwardly in a sling. She doesn’t know why she’s got the fucking thing on. Her arm’s not broken. The doctor said it was a good deterrent though against trying to use it. The bullet wound itself is closed, all stitched up nice and neatly, but it still needs time to heal. She can feel the skin around it, pulling taut with every slight movement, so she tries not to jostle it too much as she sits in one of the leather armchairs, waiting.

Jon leans over to her from his seat, looking concerned at her hiss of pain.

“Are you alright, Miss Quinzel?”

Harley glances from Jon to the man who spoke. Dr Titus V. Blaney. Or so the little gold placard sitting on his desk states. Harley's never actually met their University's president before. His dark eyes draw together in concern. Whether it’s genuine or not she can’t be bothered to decode.

She was released from Gotham General Hospital just this morning after a long seven-day stint. Only to be taken, with Jon, to the his office. Harley supposes they had better nip her expulsion in the bud, but when Jon told her that the University had cleared her hospital debt, she doesn’t know what to expect from this meeting now. _Why would they bother to clear her debt but expel her anyways? _Harley's heard of crazier theories that have made more sense.

“I’m not sure how much you are informed on the situation, Miss Quinzel so I’ll start from the beginning.” Dr Blaney’s voice is calm and she can’t see a hint of emotion on his face. She can’t tell if that’s good or not. “After a thorough investigation, it has been concluded that Mr Guy Kopski,” Harley flinches at hearing the name, but Dr Blaney doesn’t notice or pretends not to and continues without pause, “has been named as the responsible party for the incident.” Dr Blaney pauses then, clearly noticing the shock that the statement causes in her.

_He…what?_

“He has been officially ruled this according to witness accounts, testimonies and these subsequent facts,” he begins listing off offences like he’s reading them straight from an invisible police record, “by the breaking and entering of your dorm room, being in the possession of a firearm, which is forbidden on the grounds of this institute and attempted homicide.”

His composed account of events echoes around her head. As if by repeating them to herself she’ll be able to understand. Nevertheless, it still refuses to make sense to her. The coldness of it all… that’s not Guy.

“But I shot him,” Harley confesses quietly. It’s the first time she’s admitted it to herself, let alone to others. She has to say it though. The guilt claws relentlessly up her throat, needing to be heard.

Yet the stoic look on Dr Blaney’s face remains unchanged, making her mouth fall open in disbelief. Why isn’t he shocked? Mad? She killed Guy for fuck’s sake. Killed. Murdered. She’s the who actually committed the homicide. Not him.

“We are aware of the circumstances revolving around his death, Miss Quinzel. However, as he was an armed intruder you were within your right to defend yourself and Mr Crane here with necessary means.”

“Necessary means?” she parrots, “I shot him! He’s dead because of me!”

“I can’t begin to imagine how difficult this must be for you, Miss Quinzel.”

How can he imagine when she hardly believes it herself? Guy is dead. She’s never going to see him again. An ache courses through her that’s not a direct effect from her shoulder.

“But yourself and Mr Crane here are upstanding students of this University and we will do everything we can to ensure your happiness and care. The University has paid for your medical fees and we will continue to support you in your remaining couple of months left here until you graduate.” He rests his elbows on his desk and steeples his fingers. “In return, we simply ask that no further news of this tragic incident is spread.”

“Do you even care that he’s dead?” Harley snaps, her good hand clenching the plush leather arm of the chair.

“Harley!” Jonathan admonishes.

“Guy was a good man, a good student! And all you care about is the publicity?”

Dr Blaney does his best to control his expression, but she sees that her overstepping causes him to bristle.

“We have kept a tight lid on the investigation to uphold the reputation of all parties involved, yourself included as well as the University. On behalf of the board, I am ashamed and appalled at the incident that has occurred within these halls. However,” his eyes narrow slightly, “following a post-mortem, a toxicology report revealed that Mr Kopski had high levels of an unknown substance in his system before the time of his death.”

“What are you insinuating? He wasn’t a drug addict.”

“I’m merely stating the facts Miss Quinzel. I brought you into my office today, along with Mr Crane, to see how you both were faring, following the incident and to explain to you the result of the investigation. If you wish to leave and forfeit your place here to recover with your family at home, then you are free to do so,” he says, curtly.

Harley must look like a fish gasping for water with the way she struggles to find the words.

Jon jumps in on her behalf, “Harley is still in shock Mr President,” he says politely but his words carry an undertone of reprimand, “She was close to Mr Kopski and is still trying to process his tragic death.”

“Of course, of course,” Dr Blaney says gruffly, relaxing back into his chair.

“She does appreciate your aid, we both do. We thank you for your generosity. We would both like to continue our education and remain here to complete our PhDs.”

“Then it’s settled.” Dr Blaney stands up and Jonathan follows suit. Reaching over, Dr Blaney holds out a hand for Jon to shake. “I look forward to reading your thesis, Jonathan. You have a brilliant mind, son.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Harley meanwhile sits there in a daze. _This is wrong_. Guy is dead and no one seems to care. He’s dead. She’ll never see his smile. Never hear his laugh. Never feel his kind touch or soft lips on hers ever again. The heavy realisation drops, feeling like lead weight in her stomach.

Jonathan pulls Harley up out of her seat, mindful of her right side. Mindlessly, she lets him lead her from the room. She thinks she hears Dr Blaney say something in parting to her, but it feels as if her ears are stuffed with cotton wool.

Crossing through the campus to get back to their dorm room she follows Jon along blindly as a reel of memories of her and Guy play in her mind. His bell-like laugh rings bittersweet. Harley’s hand tightens around Jonathan’s and she hunches over slightly as they walk, drawing in a deep breath.

A commotion of hushed whispers filter through to her ears which has her looking up from the ground.

Forcing her attention out of her mind and onto her surroundings, she takes in the other students walking across the grounds. Well apparently walking until they see her. Groups of friends pause, huddle together and cover their rapidly moving mouths while throwing dirty looks her way.

“Did you hear?”

“-dead.”

“Poor Guy.”

“I can’t believe-”

"-always thought she-"

“I heard that-”

“-blood everywhere….”

One guy stops dead on the sidewalk in front of them and stares openly.

Harley feels her lip curling, fighting against the tears that gather in her eyes.

“The fuck you looking at?”

Jonathan pulls her closer to his side, steering her away and quickens their pace across the courtyard.

The echo of Guy’s laugh drowns in the sea of gossip.

Fuck them.

Fuck Dr Blaney.

Fuck _everyone_.

♦ • ♥ • ♦

_Two weeks and five days after Guy’s death._

Gazing into the mirror of their bathroom, Harley notices the corners of her lips tilting up slightly as she peers at her most recent tattoo. It’s the first genuine smile she’s mustered since the incident and it’s all thanks to Jonathan.

Turns out, Jon was completely serious about his spontaneous tattoo idea for her. She went along with him to please him, even though she grumbled the entire way there, not in the mood to leave her bed, let alone their room to get poked with needles again.

_‘I don’t know why you’re so mad about it,’ Harley sighed, exasperated._

_‘Keep walking.’_

_‘I really don’t care what other people think, so why should you?’_

_‘Because this is not about them. It’s about you.’_

_‘What does that even mean?’_

_‘Look, we’re here. Get inside.’_

She huffed and groaned, reluctantly signing the papers to agree that she was a willing participant, despite how contradictory it looked. _Not that the artist looked like she cared. _

_‘On the face as well, Jon, really?' Harley said as the tattooist began prepping her cheek. 'It better not be a dick._’

_‘Shut up and sit down_.’

She’s glad he did drag her out their room because seeing the finished product of Jon’s surprise idea had her leaping up from the parlour chair and hugging him fiercely, tears welling up quickly in her eyes.

The small black heart that she carelessly drew so many years ago is now permanently featured under her right eye. Harley had forgotten all about it and her impulse decision behind it. She wonders how Jon knew and still remembered. Staring at it now, those feelings that she felt on that night back in high-school flow through her once more, igniting a spark of something within her. Jon’s pulled her out from the dark and given her something to hold on to. Something priceless. It would have been so easy to lose herself, to slip further and further into the abyss, like sinking into a warm bath. But that’s not her. She doesn’t do _easy_. She never has. He’s revealed her inner strength that's been hiding and brought it to the light to remind her of how strong she really is. That this _won’t break her_.

Touching the healing heart gently, Harley's eyes flicker down to the ‘ROTTEN’ tattoo just below, on the curve of her jaw. She smirks. _It’s still fucking funny_. The fact that the tattoos are so close together is kind of ironic too and you can't really look at one without the other. The contradiction between them feels right and she resolves to ground herself in this feeling of power. It will serve her as a constant reminder. She can’t be weak. Not anymore.

Spinning around, Harley leaves the bathroom, blowing a kiss to Jon who shakes his head at her and looks back down to his desk. Flopping down on the couch she grabs the Gotham General newspaper off the coffee table out of habit. A pang of longing is quickly shoved down as she flicks it open and skims her eyes over the first page.

_Exclusive interview by Dr Hugo Strange with the Joker. A glimpse into the mind of Gotham’s most notorious and evil villain. This is a sneak peek into the biography that Dr Strange will be publishing later this year._

Harley can see why psychologists are fascinated by him, he’s a complete enigma. No one can find any official record of his existence and he’s refused to tell psychiatrists anything so far. It’s like he just popped out of the woodwork one night with a sole focus to terrorize the city.

There’s a black and white mug shot of him printed on the page and Harley can’t tear her eyes away. She hasn’t seen a photo this clear of him before. Usually, they’re blurry mid-action shots of him fighting the Batman in the streets. The quality of this one is grainy but that doesn’t take anything away from the large grin on his face as he’s photographed mid-laugh, barely holding onto his identification board. Harley can’t help but smile. He looks fucking insane, but there’s something about that grin. They must have spent ages trying to get him to take the photo straight-faced. She smirks. _Guess they gave up_.

Joker's face is pale, but not naturally so. It's white paint or chalk that covers his face and black paint or makeup that surrounds his eyes. Harley's not exactly sure, but everyone in Gotham recognizes this made-up face now, his signature 'clown' look. It's only when Harley looks at the second photograph, a side view of his mugshot she notices that the red painted lines running from the side of his mouth up to his cheeks aren’t makeup or even tattoo lines, but scars. She's heard the rumours of course, but seeing them captured in a photo like this shows how starkly jagged and unnerving they actually are. _God, they look fucking painful._

Harley feels her eyebrows lift freely before she furrows them. _Did he do that? Or did someone do that to him? _The concept stirs uncomfortably, but she refuses to feel pity for him. Harley would hate for anyone to look at her gunshot wound and then try to commiserate with her. Christ, it sets her teeth on edge to even think about. She won’t even tolerate Jon’s misplaced sense of guilt, so imagining a stranger trying to offer her their condolences would be a sure way of them asking to have their teeth kicked in. _No wonder he doesn’t want to give information to those pricks. So what the hell could be in this interview?_

The article is very short and it's formatted in a simple script-like text.

_Dr Strange: ‘Why do you do the things you do, Joker? What’s your goal? What’s your plan?’_

_[The patient lifts the corner of his mouth and swipes his tongue across his lips in a quick motion. He leans forward in his restraints. He displays signs of interest, showing a willingness to cooperate.]_

_Joker: ‘Do I really look like a guy with a plan?'_

_Dr Strange: ‘You bring destruction and disorder to our city. You disrupt the peace of the people. Routines and laws are what is natural for people to live by. Why do you feel the need to disturb that?’_

_[The patient smirks and wets his lips again. A tick. He seems playful, excited, unapologetic.]_

_Joker: ‘If you upset the established order, everything becomes chaos. I’m an agent of chaos. [He pauses]. Oh, and you know the thing about chaos, Doctor? It’s fair.’_

_[The patient is emotionally shallow. He doesn’t show any remorse for his criminal behaviour and is unable to display any empathy.]_

Harley scoffs loudly. She must’ve garnered Jon’s attention because he makes his way over to her, carrying a notebook.

“You seen this?” She slaps the back of her hand against the page. “That’s all he got from that? No remorse, no empathy,' she mocks, 'Seriously? He’s the _director_ of Arkham Asylum for God’s sake. What a fucking joke!”

Harley wishes she could have heard the interview live in person because, even with those words simply written down, they resonate like chimes of an epiphany. The truth. She’s always thought that everyone has predestined fates. The relentless amount of shit that’s been thrown at her has made her think that her life is solely controlled by some higher being that she’s pissed off in some other life. What else was she to think when she couldn’t even catch a break when she was a kid. The idea that nothing’s really set in stone or ordained in the stars, feels startingly liberating.

“Are you reading the interview with Dr Strange and the Joker?”

“Yeah. I thought he was just insane.”

Jonathan raises an eyebrow as he sits down beside her. “Who? The Joker? Well, he is, Harls.”

“No, he’s not, look!” She shoves the newspaper at him and he takes it. Probably just to get her to stop waving the damn thing in his face. He passes her his notebook as a trade.

“What’s all this?” she asks, distracted, trying to understand what he’s written. It looks like more chemicals and compounds. “You making a new formula?”

“No.” He places the paper on the table and turns to give her his full attention. The sudden seriousness of his face has her straightening from her slouched position. “I analysed a can of Guy’s Think Drink since he left one here. It contained the substance that the coroner couldn’t identify.”

Harley's hands grip dangerously tight around Jon’s notebook, threatening to break its spine.

“Only, I _have_ managed to identify it.” Harley’s breath hitches. “The chemical components themselves are extremely toxic and combined… they’re severely destructive. This toxin rivals my own work, Harls.”

“The toxin didn’t kill him though did it, Jon,” Harley bites out. _Why is he telling her this? What's the point?_

“It did affect him though. Even I noticed how his erratic and paranoid behaviour had grown in his last few weeks. Did you know he bought a gun?”

Harley shakes her head silently. She can admit now that she did see Guy and the relationship she had with him through rose-tinted glasses. He could do no wrong in her eyes. He was perfect in his noramlity. So when he started to change she turned a blind eye, thinking it was stress, jealousy or just some minor side effects of his Think Drink. He did say he felt jittery, but she assumed it was just a harmless kink he’d soon work out. Boy, was she wrong.

“He was lucky that it was diluted. A larger dose would have been fatal for him and his death wouldn’t have been as quick.”

Harley narrows her eyes, giving him a pointed look. _Fucking seriously, Jon?_

“Sorry,” he winces, “I’ve done some digging though and I've found that the formula is so rare, it’s unique.” Taking a deep breath, he exhales sharply, “It’s _Joker’s Venom_.”

“It’s… what?” _Joker? Like _the_ Joker? The Joker she was just reading about, Joker? _“He-How… How the fuck did he even get a hold of that? He was-”

The penny drops.

Harley gapes at Jon, who looks at her uncomprehendingly.

She’s always had a feeling. A feeling in her gut that told her she never got an answer to a question she felt too painful to linger on and ask. The chaos of questions in her mind falls silent as the third and final voice from the war, the one that she thought was won a long time ago, takes humanoid shape and stalks forward, cackling under the spotlight.

_She fucking _knew_ it._

“He wasn't alone." Harley locks her steely eyes with Jon's. "He was being helped by Dr Markus.”

♦ • ♥ • ♦

_Seven weeks and four days after Guy’s death. Two weeks until graduation._

Jon’s been helping her plan this for weeks. Helping her strategize, like how should they do it, what should they use and what’s the best mode for tracking. The latter was the final piece of the design they had to iron out.

They couldn’t use her bike; it would attract too much attention. They ruled out trailing him on foot too because they’d lose sight of his car within minutes. They needed something fast, but inconspicuous. To remain unnoticed wherever they go, but still able to follow behind closely. They looked at each other as the idea came to them simultaneously. _Taxi_.

_‘The cab driver will be a witness though.’ Ever the perfectionist, Jon tries to find a fault._

_‘Not if we knock him out and stage it as a mugging.’_

_‘CCTV?’_

_‘Disguises and we’ll tell him we’re going to a fancy-dress party.’_

_‘And you’re going to just ask him to follow the car in front?’_

_‘After a moment, yeah. Our friends are in it, they just didn’t have enough room for us to all fit in.’_

_He sighs deeply. ‘I hope you’re sure about this, Harls.’_

She’s never been more sure about anything in her life.

A few days later, she’s sat in a taxi, with Jon, keeping their eyes fixed on Dr Markus car that’s two cars in front. A sense of nostalgia fills her. However, her mood is slightly damped because she had to leave her bat behind. It doesn’t feel right doing this without it, but Jon was right, no taxi would pick them up if she was swinging that thing around. Oh well, it’s not like they don’t have other tricks up their sleeves.

Harley’s picked a different disguise this time, but one she thinks is just as cute. She’s wearing a short, black, multi-layered ruffled skirt with a red and black corset. The makeup she wears is the same as usual; white face, bright red lips with dark smokey eyes. Though she decided to spice things up with her hair this time. Dividing her hair into two pigtails she dyed the end of one black and the other red with some hair chalk. _It’s the cutest fucking thing ever. The best idea she’s ever had._ Jon said the look makes her look more psycho, but she just laughed and took it as a compliment.

Sitting next to her in the back of the cab, the glow of the streetlights subtly illuminate Jon’s partially-masked face. She had confiscated his burlap scarecrow mask for the ride over because, if they wouldn’t get picked up if she had her bat, they definitely wouldn’t get picked up if he was wearing his creepy ass balaclava. He still needed a disguise for his face though. So she got him this masquerade style mask in the shape of a crows beak. She thought it was great because seemed quite fitting with its plague doctor feel about it. Jon however, found it less amusing. Harley still has to stifle her giggles now as he pierces her with a glare through it.

“They’ve pulled in just ahead, but I’ll have to drive a little further to find a place to park. Or I could just-”

_Thwack_.

The car stalls to an abrupt halt as Harley smashes the butt of her swiftly drawn gun into the cab driver’s temple. He slumps over the steering wheel, knocked out cold.

“Stop here. Here is fine,” she replies cheerfully.

Harley tucks her gun back into the shaft of her boot before copying Jon and climbing out the cab. Jon lights a cigarette while Harley leans into the driver’s window. To others, _not that there’s anyone watching, or so Jon informs,_ it may look like she’s paying the driver when actually, she pulls a small roll of duct tape out her bra and tears off a strip to plaster it over his mouth before securing his hands around the steering wheel with the rest.

“Don’t you think you’re going a bit overboard?” Jon mumbles around his cigarette as he keeps watch.

Leaning in a bit more, practically falling in, Harley roots around the man’s pockets.

“Jesus Christ, Harley. What are you doing?” A moment later Harley pulls back and spins around, brandishing his wallet with a grin. Jon’s face drops in exasperation, “Seriously?”

“What? Did you _see_ that fare? Ridiculous price for a fifteen-minute drive.”

Jon looks up into the dark night sky as if he will find limitless patience there to draw from. “You’re unbelievable.” He takes one last drag before throwing the butt down and crushing it into the sidewalk with the toe of his shoe.

Harley giggles and links her arm in his. Jonathan refuses to skip down the sidewalk with her, so his arm is jostled about awkwardly as they make their way down the street.

She raps her knuckles lightly on the front door when they reach the house Dr Markus disappeared inside of.

The door opens and the familiar face of their professor stares at them, his tired face blazes to life as he jumps in fright.

“Dr Markus!” Harley greets heartily, her smile wide, showing off her sharp white teeth. “Let’s chat.”

Jonathan pushes forward into the house before Dr Markus has time to react and slam the door in their faces. He stumbles over his words as he’s restrained and forced backwards. Stepping in, Harley grins as she closes the door softly behind them.

Dr Markus has found his voice by the time Harley catches up with them into the living room.

“What do you want? I can give you money,” he begs frantically.

Without answering Jon pushes him down into a cosy looking high-backed armchair. Dr Markus scrambles for purchase and grips the arms of the chair, looking ready to haul himself straight out of it.

“Ah ah ah,” Harley sing songs.

Dr Markus visibly gulps as Harley pulls out her black pistol again and aims it at his face.

The blood rushes from his face. “What do you want?” he whispers, as if talking too loudly will set the gun off.

“You know I had this whole thing planned out. Practised a huge speech and everything.” Harley twirls the gun around her finger as she holds it through the trigger guard, making Dr Markus cower. “Explaining how I’d kill you for your part in Guy’s death.” He visibly tenses. “How I’d then beg you to tell me _why_ you spiked his drinks. How I’d probably cry as I’d ask, why did you make him think he was crazy? Why did you make him suffer like that? I’d then punish you for escaping justice and blah, blah… blah.”

She squats down in front of him, putting her pushed-up cleavage on display right under his nose. Before his eyes can flicker down, she sticks the gun under his chin with a rough shove. A bead of sweat drips down his deeply lined forehead.

“But I just realised that I really. Don’t. Care. There’s no such thing as _real justice_. I could prove your guilt and then they could throw you in prison or," Harley pauses before lowering her voice, "I could just kill you.” Dr Markus whimpers and scrunches his eyes shut. “But that just seems too _easy_. If you think about it, justice is basically what would the victim be happy settling for.” Harley rises up, moving her face closer to his. She trails the muzzle of the gun along his clenched jaw and licks her lips as she whispers into his ear, “Our victim is dead, Markus. So, where does that leave you?”

“I-I didn’t mean to hurt the poor kid. I thought it would improve h-his recipe.”

Harley growls. “Bullshit.” She digs the cold metal into his cheek.

Over his whimpers, she hears rustling and glances behind her. Jonathan’s taking off his masquerade crow mask.

“J-Jonathan Crane?” Dr Markus gasps. “What are you… Surely _you’d_ understand the need for experiments. I’ve read drafts of your thesis,” he yells, like that should explain everything. “H-help me!”

Jonathan remains where he is, a dark silent statue in the room. Dr Markus’ wide eyes flit rapidly between Jonathan and Harley. His breathing quickens when he realises Jonathan will be making no move to assist him. Instead, he has to watch as Jonathan pockets his crow-mask and withdraws his burlap sack and places it over his head.

“W-what…? What are you doing?”

Harley grabs hold of Dr Markus' tie and wraps it around her fist. “Do you think _we’re_ crazy?” She stuffs the bunched tie in his mouth. “Do you think we’ll make you suffer?” she croons.

Yanking the pillow that’s peeking out behind his lower back, she steals it and holds it against his right knee. In one fluid movement, she flicks the safety switch off on her gun, points and presses the muzzle of it into the pillow, draws back the hammer and pulls the trigger.

Dr Markus’ muffled screams sound louder than the low crack of the gun. Feathers burst from the pillow and lazily drift to the floor. Dr Markus hunches forward in his seat, the blood that was drained from his face rushes back, staining his face and neck an angry red. Harley watches his face twist in agony and it brings a smile to her lips.

Tossing the ruined pillow to the floor Harley pokes the hot muzzle of the gun into the bloody ruined mess that is his shattered knee cap.

“Damn.” She looks into his bulging, blood-shot eyes and regards the tears streaming down his cheeks with detachment. Harley turns her lips down in a pout. “That’s gonna be a bitch to walk on.”

Harley’s cackles drown out Dr Markus’ strangled sobs.

_I’m an agent of chaos._

Jonathan steps forward and draws a large syringe from the inside of his coat, brimming with his signature amber toxin. Harley moves aside but keeps the gun trained on Dr Markus’ head.

_And you know the thing about chaos? _

He struggles against Jonathan, wrapping his shaking, sweaty palms around Jon’s looming arm and fights to push him away. A precise kick from Harley has her boot slamming into his broken knee. Shrieking in agony, his hands slip. It presents open access to Jonathan who then takes the opportunity to sink the needle into his neck and push down on the plunger, forcing the whole, large dose into his system.

“Sweet dreams, professor.”

_It’s fair._

_‘And someone will love you_

_Someone will love you_

_Someone will love you_

_But someone isn’t me’_

_ \- Sorry, Halsey_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Below are the pictures of Harley’s tattoo in honour of Jon, her outfit and Jon’s mask (try not to laugh).
> 
>   
  



	8. Chapter 8

_‘Are you high enough without the Mary Jane like me?_

_Do you tear yourself apart to entertain like me?_

_Do the people whisper ‘bout you on the train like me?_

_Saying that you shouldn’t waste your pretty face like me?’_

_ \- Gasoline, Halsey_

_Four years later._

Harley stumbles into the subway car, giggling as she catches herself from almost falling headfirst into a pole. Clinging to it, she rests her forehead against the cool metal and holds a finger over her mouth. Her half-hearted shushing is cut short by another burst of giggles.

She squints as she tries to read the blurry time off one of the three, newly acquired, watches on her arm. The number of different guys that kept plying her with free drinks all night meant she didn’t have to pull her purse out once. All she had to do was toss them one hooded look and a smile filled with secrets and they fell like putty in her hands. Then simply, a flirty lean in here, a teasing grind on the dance floor there and her sly hands were able to swiftly steal a couple of grand’s worth of watches.

_Free booze and free money. Who’s the 'easy' one now?_

Taking candy from a baby would’ve been harder. Like seriously, they’d know instantly they were missing something and cry. It seems a shame that she doesn’t stick around long enough to watch the dawning realisation fall over her victims’ faces. She imagines it would be beautiful.

Snickering, Harley straightens up, having noted that it’s gone half two in the morning. Jon should be back at their apartment by now. He stays late at the Asylum, but never this late.

He’s working part-time there in the role of a clinical psychiatrist, but between them, it’s merely a way in to test his fear toxin freely on human subjects. Harley admitted that it was a genius idea; experimenting on crazies who nobody would believe anyhow. Jon’s also enhancing his formula again too. Having recognised that the need for physical contact to inject the serum has its flaws, he’s trying to change the state of the solution to gas.

When he’s not at the Asylum he’s more than likely working at his other part-time job, teaching as a Professor of Psychology at the University. Harley couldn’t wait to leave that place. Fuck knows why Jon accepted Dr Blaney’s offer to stay. She supposes that one of them should have a stable _legal_ income to afford their, admittedly a little worse for wear, loft apartment in Otisburg and they both knew it wouldn’t be her.

Harley doesn’t do too badly though. Going out every day and night, sniffing out opportunities to make a quick buck. She tried working in a strip club as an exotic dancer and for a while it was great, feeling like a fucking God watching all the salivating men begging at her feet for even a second of her attention. She was raking in some serious guap every night too. All until it came to a head and she got kicked out for breaking a guy’s nose because apparently _‘visiting every night and staring at her weirdly’_ wasn’t a good enough excuse. She could’ve found another joint to dance in, sure, but there’s only so much she’d do to entertain her horny fans and they were all just so…boring. At least creepy stalker, probably a serial killer, dude made her laugh when she watched the blood pour from his crooked nose. The rest of them were just so _predictable_. So now she’s hunting around various bars and clubs, finding yet more predictable men to exploit and so far, so good.

Harley wobbles as the subway train breaks sharply, pulling up to the next stop. Glancing up, she catches two middle-aged women, seated in the carriage, looking at her with identical frowns.

God knows how long they’ve been staring, but apparently long enough to decide that they're judge Judy-_whoops no, she's not that drunk, promise_\- judge, _jury_ and executioner. The distaste on their faces overshadows the lingering pity in their eyes.

Feeling herself bristle like a dog with its hackles raised, Harley feels her lips curling in a sneer. On a whim she promptly banishes it and replaces it with a sickly sweet smile. The womens' looks turn to one of confusion before disgusted outrage as Harley then spreads two fingers over her mouth and sticking her tongue out, lewdly licking the space between. The women turn beet red and whisper harshly to each other briefly before hopping up and moving to sit further down the train.

With one hand gripping the pole Harley swings around it provocatively under the dying, flicking lights of the carriage. Her loud cackles that rattle with the motion of the train chase after the fleeing pair.

♦ • ♥ • ♦

Harley tries to be silent as she unlocks the door and tiptoes inside, but somehow she manages to trip over thin air and crashes into the wall. She knocks her bat over in her clumsiness, sending it clattering against the hardwood floor.

Jon shoots up from his slouched slumber on the couch. His alarmed yet shrewd eyes soften when they rest on her.

“Oopsie.”

Jon relaxes back against the cushions with a deep sigh, running a hand through his already thoroughly tousled hair.

Harley flicks on the light, now that she knows he’s awake.

Jon winces at the sudden brightness. He’s still wearing his suit and coat from work. How long has been asleep on the couch? Did he really wait up for her again? He covers a yawn with his hand.

_He looks really worn out._ Harley frowns. “You okay?”

Jon mumbles something under his breath whilst getting to his feet and stretching. Harley can hear his bones cracking from here.

“Huh? What did you s-”

“Now you’re home I can finally go to bed, knowing you’re just drunk and not dead.” His long dark ash brown hair falls over his eyes, hiding his expression in shadow.

“I’m not _that_ drunk.”

“What are you even doing, Harley?” His head snaps up and his ice-blue eyes pierce hers with a sharp coldness.

“What do you mean?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest and planting her feet in a wide stance, mostly to help stop herself from swaying.

“This.” He gestures up and down her. “Going out every night and getting wasted. How is this helping me? Helping us? How can I concentrate when I feel like I need to be here, babysitting you twenty-four-seven?”

His words hit her like a slap across the face. It sobers her up completely. “Fuck you, Jon.” Struggling briefly with the clasps, Harley wrenches the watches off her arm and throws them at him. Jonathan remains tense as they bounce off his chest. “Here take this too.” Digging a hand in her purse she showers him in dollar bills as she storms up to him. “Here’s _more_ than my half of the rent, you ungrateful bastard. I don’t need this shit. I don’t need a _babysitter_. I don’t need _you.” _

_That’s a big fucking lie of course._ She might be feeling over-emotional from the lingering effects of all the alcohol, but the thought of Jon resenting her… it’s an unexpected blow to her gut that leaves her winded. Harley thought he understood her. She thought she understood him. It’s taken twelve years, but she’s finally done it. She’s finally ruined the only good thing she had left. _She's fucked up again. _The snarling tone of the thought is painfully familiar. Harley shoulders past him, trying desperately to bury her pain with anger. “You sound like my fucking mom.”

Something in her wants to completely rip him apart. To hurt him as much as he’s hurt her, but even saying that to him, both knowing full well what her mom was like…. She sees him flinch and it causes herself to feel physical pain too. She can’t hurt Jon. A tumultuous cycle of vicious heartbreak weighs down on her heavily.

Harley deliberately knocks into him as she stomps past, determined to get her things and get out but can’t go far when his large hand grips her upper arm and holds her still.

“Get off me!” she spits, whacking his arm.

“Harley, stop. I’m sorry.” Harley scoffs and bites down hard on her lip. “I’m sorry. I’m just….” Something in Jon's voice and the way he visibly deflates has her pausing.

His arm falls and he lets her go. _Run. Now, Go._ But her feet remain rooted to the floor. There’s something physically impossible about leaving Jon when he looks like this; eyebrows drawn together in pain, his eyes swimming with emotion. This close to him she can see the dark circles under his eyes more clearly. Even if he’s going to say something else that cuts through her like a knife she can’t just walk away. He’s not the kind of person that deliberately wants to hurt her, so why does it hurt more when he’s clearly trying to make things up to her and part on good terms?

The crushing weight forces a harsh burst of air to escape her. “I care, Jon, okay? I tried my best. I’m sorry I can’t do what you do, but I tried, alright? I’m sorry I can’t hold down a normal job. I’m sorry I’m not here more. I’m sorry that nothing ever seems good enough for me. I just feel like I’m trapped in a cage and I’m losing my fucking mi-”

“No, Harls. I’m sorry. I’m stressed and tired and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I know you care and I shouldn’t ask the impossible from you.”

“I don’t wanna be a burden for you, Jon,” Harley mumbles, scuffing her shoe against the floor. She can’t look at him. She doesn’t want to see the look on his face, doesn’t want him to see the look on hers. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine. I’m a big girl.” A humourless laugh rises only to be suppressed into a cheerless smile. A lump forms in her throat and she has to force her next words out around it. “I’ll go.”

“No, Harley. God no. I didn’t mean…Fuck, I-”

Harley risks a look up in time to see Jon rubbing a hand over his tired and anguished face.

“I worry about you,” he confides quietly, “all the time. I know you get bored easily. _I know_. I just….”

Harley doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t know what _he’s_ trying to say. Resting a gentle hand on his arm, she pushes it down to uncover his face.

“I’m sorry, Harls. Please don’t leave.”

Harley blinks.

_He… _doesn’t_ want to leave her?_

Jon must read the shock plastered on her face and curses.

“God, I’m such an asshole.” He takes her hands in his. “I don’t want you to leave, Harley. It’s a poor excuse, but it is the truth when I say I’m stressed and exhausted. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. You didn’t deserve it. I know you. I know you only do your best for me and for us. I don’t know why I ever assumed otherwise.”

“Because I’m letting you downapparently,” she sneers mockingly, daring not to hope, instead hiding behind the walls she’s built. She never thought she’d have to use them against Jon. He’s the one that helped her build them in the first place. She pulls her hands out from his and crosses her arms over her chest.

Jon pins her with a look she can’t quite read. “You’ve _never_ let me down, Harls.”

Harley stalls, her arms falling limply to her sides. He sounds so sincere and honest. She has to blink away the tears in her eyes as her heart swells. _So, she hasn’t lost her Jon?_ She feels herself smiling weakly with hopefulness.

Jon offers her a small smile back that’s filled with regret and apology and it’s then she knows that he will never abandon her. No matter how far she pushes him, how infuriating and immature she might be, he’ll always be there for her. The thought fills her with warmth but a current of guilt rises with it too. He’d do anything for her, put up with her through everything and all she does is cause him worry and pain. She thinks back to what he said and she _knows_ that’s not true.

But, her Jon, her little brother in everything but blood, still needs her. He’d be so much better of without her, but if he wants her to stay, then that selfish part of her will. Because even though it may not seem like it, she needs him a lot more than he needs her.

♦ • ♥ • ♦

_‘There’s nothing to fear but fear itself.’_

_ \- Jonathan Crane_

“Fear is a powerful and primitive human emotion. It protects us because it alerts us to the presence of danger.” He sweeps his eyes over the silent sea of faces watching him as he paces steadily in front of his desk.

_His students appear to be listening. Good._

“Fear can be divided into two responses; biochemical and emotional. The biochemical response is universal, while the emotional response is highly individual. You have all heard of the ‘flight or fight’ response yes?” Murmurings of confirmation ripple across the classroom. “This is the biochemical reaction to fear. Our bodies display visible, physical signs of fear, such as sweating, increased heart rate and high levels of adrenaline. The effect these have induces a state of extreme alertness in us. This response is automatic and crucial to our survival and as such, it’s highly likely to be an evolutionary development.” Jonathan pauses. His eyes narrow as they fall upon a young man in the front row.

Most_ seem to be listening. _

“Mr Cooper,” he barely raises his voice, but it still causes a chill to descend upon the room.

The young man in question looks up from his lap so quick it’s curious that he doesn’t suffer from whiplash. All eyes turn and focus on him, watching as his cheeks flush red with embarrassment at being singled out. Despite being caught he tries to subtly tuck his phone into his pocket and adopts an innocent expression.

Jonathan’s lips twitch in a barely contained sneer.

“Could you tell us why the biochemical reaction is likely to be a development from evolution, Mr Cooper?”

His eyes flit to the board behind Jonathan, searching to see if the answer is written there. “Because… because it’s good to be afraid of dangerous things?”

Jonathan folds his arms across his chest and leans against his desk. “Would you care to elaborate?”

“Err, say like spiders?” An obnoxious grin lights up the young man’s boyish face and he relaxes arrogantly in his chair. “Yeah, spiders, because some of them are venomous so it would make sense for everyone to be naturally scared of them.”

Jonathan feels a dark satisfaction creep into his eyes. “Are _you_ afraid of spiders, Ryan?”

“As much as the next guy, sure,” he scoffs. A few of his friends around him chuckle.

Jonathan turns his back on the laughter, walking over to the side of the room where shelves line the wall.

“Fear can be perceived as either a positive or negative emotion, depending on the individual. This is what is called the emotional response to fear. So, even though the physical reactions of a fear of spiders may be displayed in most people, it explains why although some people may be terrified of spiders, others simply adore them and keep them as pets.” Reaching into a glass tank that sits on one of the shelves he gently pulls out a large black tarantula. The sound of collective sharp inhales from the room sound like music to his ears. Turning around, he lets a lazy grin quirk his lips and stalks back over to Ryan, who hastily edges back in his seat at the sight of the thickly furred spider in his palm. His chair only moves back an inch, stuck in the narrow aisle. He can’t get out. He’s trapped. Jonathan savours the growing panic in his eyes.

“In certain circumstances, the fear response also releases some chemicals, such as dopamine, in our brain which give us feelings of happiness and excitement. Which is why some people find the rush of adrenaline to be addictive.”

Jonathan comes to a stop, directly in front of Ryan. Observing with clinical interest as beads of sweat start to coalesce on his forehead.

“So, what would say your emotional fear response to spiders is, Mr Cooper?” Jonathan places the spider on the back of Ryan’s hand that he has braced against the desk.

Ryan freezes completely. His attempts at pushing back his chair and escaping come to an crashing halt as he dares not to move a muscle. Jonathan watches enraptured as Ryan’s wide eyes stare, frozen in horror, at the hairy eight-legged beast resting on his skin.

Chairs scrape harshly against the floor as his friends sat around him recoil away.

_So, his friends desert him in his time of need._ _How interesting_.

An image of Harley pops into his mind and he lets himself feel a small genuine smile as he knows what her reaction would be. She’d _never_ leave him if he needed her. She’d fight his monsters as well as her own just to save him. She’s even proved that she would, time and time again. An encompassing feeling of warmth soothes his dark glee for a moment. Where others would readily turn tail and desert their friends and loved ones in the face of fear, she would bare her teeth and charge into it head-on. _She truly is a remarkable human being_. He doesn’t know what he did to be worthy of her acceptance and love, but he considers himself lucky every day to have met her that one day, twelve years ago. It just goes to show how weak others are in comparison. The pair of them have endured hell and yet one egotistical boy can’t even endure the sight and touch of a harmless spider.

The tarantula crawls a few quick paces up Ryan’s arm and he screws his eyes shut, a sharp cry bursting from his chest. He’s trembling.

_Pitiful_.

“P-please. Get it off. Get it off,” he chants, barely louder than a whisper.

“Fear is truly fascinating,” Jonathan murmurs, his eyes cataloguing Ryan’s terrorized features. “Once you experience fear, there is a tendency to develop a fear of feeling fear. It’s a vicious cycle.”

“Get it off!” Ryan yells, but quickly clamps his mouth shut again as the spider roams a little higher.

“I respect the mind’s power over the body, Ryan. There is no real danger here.” Jonathan soaks up his fear, practically feeding off it. “To conquer fear, you must become fear.” He can taste it on his tongue_._

“Professor!” The sharp cry cuts through his haze of sadistic pleasure.

Jonathan looks up to find that the rest of the class is staring at him in shock and horror.

“Stop this!”

With a small frown, Jonathan gently scoops the tarantula up off Ryan’s arm and heads back to the shelves.

“You’re fucking crazy!” Ryan shouts through ragged breaths.

Jonathan carefully returns the spider to its terrarium, glaring through the arachnid as he hears frantic whispers break out over the hall behind him.

“-fucking freak.”

_They’ll never understand._

He recalls the countless times he’s made Harley suffer through his experiments and how she could still come out laughing at the end. He’s never felt pride quite like it. Nothing comes close to the awe he feels of her and her unrelenting strength in the face of her fears.

She’d be so much better off without him, but until she tells him to leave, he’ll give in to his selfish desires and stay. Because even though it may not seem like it, he needs her a lot more than she needs him.

_They’ll never know true fear. Not like Harley’s faced. Not like he’s faced._

His knuckles whiten as he grips the tank’s glass rim.

_He’ll show them._

_He’ll show them all._

♦ • ♥ • ♦

_‘Are you deranged like me, are you strange like me?_

_Lighting matches just to swallow up the flame like me?_

_Do you call yourself a fucking hurricane like me?_

_Point your fingers ‘cause you never take the blame like me’_

_ \- Gasoline, Halsey_

As Harley opens the door to the seedy bar, the loud music from the jukebox and the strong smells of alcohol hit her. A smile lights up her face at the familiar senses. She weaves her way through the tables and across the floor to the bar and hops up onto the stool lithely. She doesn’t even have to flag the bartender down before a shockingly pink coloured cocktail is slid towards her. It looks so out of place in the rough, testosterone-filled surroundings.

“Aw thanks, B. You’re the best!”

“Don’t mention it darlin’,” Daniel, the barkeep replies gruffly but with a smile, “It’s the least I could do.”

Harley takes a sip of the drink and moans. “If you get any more unwanted assholes that you want gone just say the word, ‘cause your cosmos are to die for.”

“What’d you do?” a voice asks from beside her.

Harley looks at the bemused man occupying the stool next to her.

She leans forward and whispers conspiratorially with a wink, “I took out his trash.”

The man laughs at tips his glass towards her. “Cheers.” Harley laughs along as they clink their drinks. “Don’t suppose you’d take out the trash that is my ex-wife too would ya?” he asks, chuckling into his drink.

“Aw, hon,” Harley gasps. “She cheat on you or somethin’?”

He snorts. “Probably, but no. She’s just a spiteful bitch. I apparently got in the way of all her hopes and dreams, so after a messy divorce she ended up winning full custody of our kid. The real kick in the balls is that she won’t even let me see her.” His laughter fades as he scowls into the bottom of his glass.

Harley frowns. “What? Why not? Isn’t that illegal?”

“Apparently not. She fed them lies about me, but I was too busy going through a rough patch trying to get work to hire a decent lawyer. So, on top of all her bullshit, my unsteady income meant I was a bad father apparently,” he sneers, lifting his glass to accept another refill from Daniel, “but I got a full-time job at this garage now and it’s decent. Well, it pays the bills at least.”

Harley's humor sinks like a stone. She considers herself to be a pretty good judge of character. She’s learnt from years of experience what to look for to try and tell what someone’s really like, how to find what they’re trying to hide. So from simply observing she knows that this guy is not a bad dad. His hands are rough, but his grip around his glass is gentle. The crow's feet in the corner of his eyes reveal that he's smiled a lot, though the bags under his sad eyes suggest he hasn't in a long time. He looks restless with worry and he looks simply defeated, judging by his slumped posture. He’s not a violent man. Only the terseness of his voice when he refers to his ex-wife does he expose any anger and bitterness.

She knows first-hand what a bad dad is like and this guy doesn’t come close.

“She took the only thing that meant something to me and she knew it. It’s been months since I’ve last seen my daughter. She called the cops the last time I showed up at her house, saying that I was threatening her. I didn’t, honest. I was just desperate to see my little girl.” He sighs wearily after taking a long drink. “It’s her eighth birthday this week. I’d give my right arm just to hold her and hear her laugh again.” The soft wistfulness in his voice has her making her decision without completely thinking it through.

Harley spins on her stool to fully face him. “Call it a hundred and you can keep your arm. I’ll make sure you get to see your kid again.”

“Yeah sure,” he chuckles, shaking his head.

“You working at that garage tomorrow?”

He pauses as he lifts his newly filled drink to his lips. “Yeah, why?” He turns his head to arch an eyebrow at her.

“What time?”

“From nine till six…. Why’d you wanna know?”

“So you’ll have an alibi, duh.” She rolls her eyes at him like it’s obvious. “Now what’s her address?”

“Wait,” his eyes grow wide and he sets his drink down, “you’re serious?”

“Depends on how bad you wanna see your kid again.”

He opens his mouth only to close it a moment after. His brown eyes narrow in careful consideration. She can read his thoughts as if they were written across his face. “What’re you gonna do?” he asks cautiously.

Harley grins a sharp toothy smile. “I told ya. Take out the trash.”

♦ • ♥ • ♦

_‘Oh, whoa, whoa_

_I think there’s a fault in my code_

_Oh, whoa, whoa_

_These voices won’t leave me alone_

_Well, my heart is gold and my hands are cold’_

_ \- Gasoline, Halsey_

Harley snickers as she flicks through the photos she took on her phone while waiting for the elevator to finish riding her up to her apartment. A quiet ding has her looking up to see the doors open. As she reaches her door she pauses on one photo. The sound of her cackling laugh echoes down the hallway. Upon reaching her door she opens it with a bang.

“Jon, you gotta see this it’s-what’s wrong?” Her smile dies on her lips.

Jon’s sitting on the couch with his elbows resting on his knees and his face buried in his palms.

“Hey,” Harley calls gently, racing over and pocketing her phone as she kneels in front of him. She wraps her hands lightly around his wrists, rubbing her thumbs in circles on his skin.

She’s got no idea why he looks so distraught. He’s not one to willingly put his feelings and emotions uninhibitedly on display like this. Even with her, he still tries to hide his insecurities, preferring to keep them bottled up. Seeing him ripped open and bare like this is surprising and painful to see.

“Jon? Jonathan?”

He silently lifts his head from his hands. Harley takes the opportunity to flit her eyes over his face, raking in every detail. Their eyes connect. His eyes are bloodshot and look sore, but unnervingly vacant. He’s looking at her with a detached calmness and it’s really starting to worry her. He’s clearly upset, but is he mad? _Is it something she’s done?_ Harley rapidly thinks back on what she could’ve done to set him off like this.

A quiet sigh snaps her attention back to him. Jonathan brushes off her hands only to hold them in his. He looks down at their hands and Harley follows his gaze.

“I’ve been fired from the University.”

Her head snaps up, but Jon’s eyes remain fixed on their hands. His face nor tone change from that withdrawn stillness. She gets the sense that, although he’s here, he’s lost, seeing something else.

Harley pulls one hand away to tilt his chin up. “What happened?”

She feels Jon’s hands squeeze hers and watches as awareness creeps into his eyes. The muscles in his jaw clench and his ice-blue eyes sharpen as he takes measured breaths. Harley waits patiently and silently listens as he factually recounts the event in his classroom earlier today and the subsequent request for him to meet with the University’s council board, where they informed him of his immediate dismissal.

Harley bolts up at that before Jon’s even finished speaking. She paces in front of him twice before she pauses and checks one of her new watches for the time.

“Right, c’mon.”

“Harley....”

Harley stomps over to the cluttered kitchen island and pulls her small semi-automatic out of the garter belt on her thigh, under her skirt and slams it down on the counter.

“Harley, wait."

She purses her lips and ignores him. She tears out the magazine and drags a box labelled _.22 LR_ over, just to find there’s only three bullets left inside. Cursing, she throws the box to the side, paying no attention to the clinking sounds of the shells hitting the wooden floor and Jon’s deep sigh. Snatching a full box of .357 Magnum loads she storms over to the side table in the living room, passing Jon who's still sat unmoved on the couch.

Harley picks up her sleek black revolver. She swings out the cylinder and fills it with six cartridges from the new box. Spinning the cylinder once fully loaded she then snaps it back in place. She turns to Jon as she hitches her skirt to tuck the gun back away.

Placing her hands on her hips she stares down at him._ Well? What are you waiting for?_

Jonathan snorts softly at her pointed look and shakes his head with a listless smile. “Harls, they informed my other employer, the director, Dr Strange at Arkham about what happened.” Harley feels her lip curl. “He’s terminated my job there too. I’ve got nothing.”

“Bullshit.” Her heels click sharply on the floor. “You don’t need them. All you need is what's in here,” she pokes the side of his head. She softens her tone at the exposed look on his face. It makes him look thirteen years old again. “You’re the smartest person I know, Jon. You don’t need their help. We’ll find a way. We always do.” She coaxes a small smile from him and it makes her grin.

She jumps up and hauls him from the couch. “Now then.” She picks his scarecrow mask off the coffee table and chucks it at him.

Jon catches it and runs a careful finger over the burlap. He looks up at Harley, a steely determination entering his eyes. Harley feels giddy, watching as he straightens up and grips the mask tighter. She flourishes two short, wickedly curved blades from behind her back, one gold and the other an iridescent rainbow of colours. She spins them skilfully in her hands.

“Let’s make them pay.”

♦ • ♥ • ♦

Jonathan chuckles deeply along with Harley’s raucous laughter while holding the door open to the bar, gesturing her to enter first.

Harley snorts and theatrically curtseys. “You’re not fooling anyone with your chivalry, Mr Scarecrow.” She twirls around him and makes her way inside.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Poor Dr Blaney asked you to make it stop at least eight times. Think he even shouted his safe word too.”

“Oh, I must’ve missed that. I couldn’t hear him over all the screaming.”

“I didn’t even know his voice could go that high.”

“Well, you did cut off one of his-”

“Ah!” Harley shrieks and beelines towards one of the crowded tables, “Mick!”

The man in question jumps in his seat at the scream. Nearly everyone in the bar, let alone him, turn around to stare at her crazy ass. Though they really should all be used to her loud annoying presence by now, she comes here often enough.

“Mick, Mick, Micky! I hope you brought cash ‘cause a deal’s a deal, buddy.” Harley leans down and slings an arm over his shoulders. Jon stands beside her with his arms crossed, rolling his eyes.

Mick leans back to look at her with confusion that slowly bleeds into clarity. “What did you do?” His voice wavers.

“Ooh, you wanna see? I took pictures!” Harley digs her phone out her bra and hugs him close to her side. Sticking the screen in front of his face, she flicks through her recent photos. “Look, selfie!”

Mick’s mouth falls open though no words follow. On the screen, she swipes through the photos showing Harley knocking on his ex-wife’s door, who then opens the door to find a gun pointing in her shocked face. The last picture shows her sprawled on the ground, a bullet wound torn through her head and pool of blood spreading around her. Her eyes remain open, frozen in time with horror. Harley’s in the frame too, smiling at the camera, giving it a thumbs up.

She pats Mick roughly on the back, “You should get a call or letter soon to re-evaluate your fitness of parentship. Congrats pops!”

Mick remains silent, staring at the space where the phone was even after she tucks it away. The other guys around the table just stare at her perplexed, not having seen the photos.

“I told you I’d get you to see your little girl again. Now you just gotta hold up your end of the bargain and it’ll be our little secret.”

Mechanically Nick reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out his wallet and hands it to her.

“Aw babe, you’re so generous. I’ll just take the hundred we agreed on though, ‘kay. I don’t wanna rob your little girl of her birthday present money.” Harley pulls out a few notes and tucks it back into his jacket, patting in place. “Tell her I said happy birthday, okay?”

She leaves Mick sitting catatonic at his table as she drags Jon to the bar with a bounce in her step. The other men at Mick’s table lean in as they leave, nudging and ask him what’s up. They get no reply.

“I told you the selfie was distasteful.”

“Oh, shut it you.”

“I think you might’ve broken him.”

“I got him his kid back, didn’t I?”

Daniel slides Harley’s regular candy pink cocktail towards her as they take their seats.

“Aw you did, did you, Harley?” Daniel cuts in cheerfully, having heard the end of their conversation. A smile peeks through his thick bushy beard. “That’s great.”

Harley turns to Jon and raises a sculptured eyebrow, smirking haughtily. Jon rolls his eyes at her.

“What would you like, son?”

“Just an old fashioned, please.”

“Coming right up.”

“Ironic name for a bar isn’t it,” Jon drawls as Daniel sets about grabbing the top shelf whisky. _Daniel's the best. _

Daniel laughs, “Considering the customers we get it’s pretty fitting yeah. Here you go,” he places Jon’s drink down in front of him.

“Here’s to My Alibi!” Harley raises her glass in a toast. Daniel laughs as they clink glasses and excuses himself to go serve another customer.

“So, Dr Blaney down, Dr Strange to go,” Harley hums.

“We have time.”

“A scarecrow a day keeps the doctors away, eh?”

Harley giggles at Jonathan’s groan.

“Getting into the asylum will take thorough planning,” Jon informs her, his tone lowering with severity, “We can’t just waltz in there like we did at the University tonight. Since I don’t have my key card anymore, we’ll struggle to even get past the front desk and they’ve upgraded the place in the past few years, given that Joker keeps breaking out every time he’s chucked inside. It’s become a white-walled fortress.”

Harley pouts and slouches on her stool. “Well, that fucking su-”

“Dr Crane?”

Jon’s eyes narrow as he looks over her shoulder. “Who’s asking?”

Harley spins on her stool. The man stood there glances at Harley once, a slight flicker of recognition lights his eyes before he focuses back on Jonathan. Harley can’t say she feels the same as she runs her eyes over him. She’s never seen this guy before in her life. _Is he one of the guys she's screwed over? Yikes. No hard feelings right?_

He stands tall, straight and solid. A no-nonsense and all business type of guy, looking like a wannabe mob member in his black fitted suit. Maybe he is, for all she knows. Which is why she narrows her eyes too when he keeps staring at Jon.

“My names Jonny Frost. Intel has it that you work at Arkham Asylum, Dr Crane.”

Jon sneers and turns back to face the bar, lifting his drink to his mouth.

“I’d like to borrow your-”

“Your intel is mistaken,” Jon cuttingly interrupts.

The man named Frost's brows furrow in confusion and he takes a step forward, “But I-”

Harley lifts a leg and places her stilettoed covered foot on his chest, letting the heel dig in. She grins playfully at the affronted look on his face, but he’s quick to control and subdue it. He steps back and Harley leisurely lowers her foot.

“I wanted to offer you a job,” he continues.

“What kind of job?” Harley asks bluntly.

His eyes slide from the side of Jonathan’s face to hers. “A well-paid job."

Harley's eyes light up. With Jon out of work and her variable flow of income, a chance to make some money piques her interest. “Gonna need a few more details than that, hon.”

Frost's eyes scan the room before he leans closer and murmurs, “I work for Joker.”

Harley's breath catches and she straightens up. _Out of everything, she did not expect that. _"No.” She hears Jon place his glass down on the counter with a dull thump as she continues through a grin, “Fucking. Way.”

“What do you want?” Jon asks.

“Do you work at the asylum or not?”

Jon sneers. “No. It’s a recent development.”

“Well, then that complicates things.”

Harley’s heart beats fast in her chest. She doesn’t keep a close eye on the news anymore, but whenever the Joker pops up, she can’t tear her eyes away from him. She knows it’s unhealthy to be fixated on him, but she puts the entirety of the blame for her interest down to her psychological background and well his philosophy pretty much changed her own outlook and life over these past four years.

“What do you need?” Harley asks.

“I need someone on the inside. Someone who has the qualifications and clearance to get to him. Joker’s been holed up in the asylum for months and now we’ve lost contact with him. I needed Dr Crane to be our man to get him out. I’ll still buy your knowledge Doctor or, better yet, do you have any reliable colleagues working there?”

Before Jon opens his mouth to snarl something acerbic, Harley offers Frost an innocent smile. Although she’s sure the quirk of her lip and the mischievous glint in her eyes give her sincerity away.

She sticks out her hand to Frost. “Names Dr Harleen Quinzel. Nice ta meet’cha.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyyy, so we're here at long last! "pops a party popper* Sorry that it's taken so long, especially to get this last chapter out. I don't feel too great about this chapter either, so let me know if and what I can do to improve it. I hope you liked the little insight into Jon's perspective at least.
> 
> IT'S TAKEN OVER 42K WORDS BUT THE NEXT CHAPTER IS THE ONE YOU'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR! ("Thank fuck for that," you say.)
> 
> Below are pictures of Harley's revolver and her knives (yeah they're from cs go, but they're fucking badass so idgaf).
> 
> Thanks for reading this far, you're awesome ♥ - B_L
> 
>   



	9. Chapter 9

_‘Sick of all these people talkin’, sick of all this noise_

_Tired of all these cameras flashin’, sick of being poised_

_Now my neck is open wide, beggin’ for a fist around it_

_Already chokin’ on my pride, so there’s no use cryin’ about it’_

_ \- Castle, Halsey_

_Two weeks later._

Harley can hear Jon talking with Frost in their living room downstairs. Their voices float up to her bedroom where she sits at her vanity table. Jon’s always a stickler when it comes to ironing out plans, so she’s not surprised that he’s going over the job with him again.

She thinks it’s kind of adorable really, him looking out for her like this, making sure he knows every step because they both know she tends to just wing things. It’s probably why he’s going so overboard because she has to do this one all on her own. Sure, she’ll have outside help when she comes home each night, but while she’s in the asylum it’s all up to her.

Frost has offered them one hundred and eighty _fucking_ grand for this job so she sure as hell won’t back out. They need the money, so she doesn’t want to -_can't-_ fuck it up and she can’t help but feel the pressure now. Harley’s worried that she won’t be able to control herself around the Director, Dr Strange or the other psychiatrists or orderlies. The last time she pretended to have a ‘normal’ life, well…. Harley silently buttons up her white blouse, hiding her crow tattoo and scar from sight.

Her disguise must be perfect in order for this plan to work and for it to be perfect she has to act her heart out whilst simultaneously trying not to get irritated, bored or kill anyone in the process.

_Sounds fucking impossible, doesn’t it?_

Harley sighs and ties up her long blonde hair into a low ponytail. She’s washed out, bleached and dyed over as much of the red and black as she could, cutting off the few inches that didn’t fade.

If she blows her cover, she’ll probably end up locked in there herself. Hell, she might even get a cosy padded cell next to Joker’s.

Apart from the huge amount of money on offer, he’s the other reason why she’s so willing and committed to do this. There’s no way she can pass up the opportunity to meet and talk to him face-to-face. Harley’s fascinated by him, but she wouldn’t say she’s in it for the chance to pick his brains apart. Quite the opposite in fact. Joker completely changed her perspective on life and she feels like she owes him something for it. Maybe she simply wants to thank him? Revelling in the chaos that is her life now instead of cursing her unfair luck and blaming it on fate Harley just laughs it off, feeling free with the knowledge that she can create her own chaos in retaliation.

Harley picks up her foundation brush and starts applying a warm shade of beige to her face. She doesn’t wear her ‘white-faced harlequin’ look so much nowadays because it makes it harder to blend into a crowd and steal from them, but once in a blue moon, she’ll wear it for the nostalgia. As she blends the formula into her skin though, she heavily covers the tattoos on her face which she doesn’t normally do. Harley watches her reflection in the mirror frown when they disappear.

_Christ, this looks so weird._

After applying a light application of eyeliner, mascara and neutral lipstick she sits back and stares at the stranger looking back at her. Harley tops the look off with a pair of black-framed glasses. They aren’t prescribed or anything, she just got them to make her seem more intelligent and professional.

Harley smiles cheerfully at the mirror. “Hi there, I’m Harleen. I’m a new psychiatrist. Today’s my first day.”

Her bright blue eyes shine through the glasses. She looks young and radiant with enthusiasm. Innocent, with her fresh face and optimistic smile. This is who she might’ve been if she had had a normal life.

_What a fucking horrible thought._

Her smile twists into a sneer, beginning to loathe the woman looking back at her. Harley feels a little more like herself seeing her attitude still able to shine through the makeup. Not that that’s a good thing in her current situation mind.

With a groan, she heaves herself up off the stool and stands.

_This is going to be harder than she thought._

Checking her outfit over once more in her floor-length mirror, Harley adjusts the hem of her black pencil skirt and makes sure her white blouse is properly tucked in. After slipping on some plain black heels she leaves the comfort of her bedroom and heads downstairs.

As her heels click on the wood, announcing her arrival, the two men turn from the kitchen island to look at her.

“Ta-da! Whaddya think?” Harley asks, twirling with a dramatic flourish when she reaches the bottom.

Jonathan stares openly. “It’s….”

“So weird, right?” she finishes for him, chuckling.

“Yeah. God, Harls I hardly recognise you.”

“I shouldn’t be flattered, but I am. This really isn’t me.”

“Well you need to get used to it and fast," Jonny cuts in, "because your first shift starts in an hour.” His dark eyes narrow. He looks more serious than normal. _Is that even possible?_ “Are you sure you can do this?”

Harley waves him and his brooding aura away. “Chill out, Frosty. I’ve got this.”

“Just remember you only have to pretend while you’re there,” Jon says, taking a step towards her, concern written all over his face. _Him too? Jeez, they both need to loosen up a little._ “When you come home you can be as obnoxious as you want,” he adds with a barley-there smirk.

“You make me sound like a wayward toddler, Jon,” Harley groans. “I can be serious.” Jon raises a disbelieving eyebrow. “I can!”

“For all our sakes I hope you can," Jonny grunts. "Now, look at this.” Frost motions Harley to join them at the island. Pages of notes are spread out in an apparently organized mess across the countertop, her guns and ammo have been pushed over to one side to make room for the plans. He taps on a large piece of paper, detailing a building blueprint of Arkham Asylum.

“This is where Joker will be held, here.” He taps on a lower part of the building. It looks as if that part is underground. “This is the maximum-security wing. They’ve rebuilt it so it’s in the basement now. There’s only one way in and out and there’s a checkpoint you have to pass to even get inside.

”Our orderly on the inside, Frank Boles, is a guard for the max wing, but with the way security has tightened, he’s been put under scrutiny and not been of any use so far. He should help you though once he knows you’re there for Joker. If he knows what’s good for him.” Harley smirks at the muttered threat. _So, Frosty does have a mean streak. Good to know._

“Crane says that despite the increased security measures, like introducing metal detectors at the reception and increased CCTV, Strange hasn’t been able to afford to hire more guards, so that’s some good news for us at least.”

“What if he questions my CV?” It's been bugging her. She hasn't exactly been doing reputable work the past few years. What if he asks her for proof of something?

Frost pauses. “Well, most of it _is_ accurate. You did graduate from Gotham University with a PhD in Psychology and you got a good reference from Dr Blaney. The other reference on there is from a doctor who owes Joker a few favours. So, it will seem watertight when you say you’ve been working for him the past couple of years.”

“Alright.”

“Do you have any more questions?”

“Uh-”

“Good.”

Jonathan checks his watch. “It’s almost time.”

Frost nods and hands Harley a playing card. The Joker. She flips it over and spots some ink. Written on the back in bold are an address and phone number.

“This is my number and the address of Joker’s club. I’ll most likely be there if you can’t get ahold of me and need to see me. Otherwise good luck and try not to blow it.”

“Sir yes, Sir!” Harley snaps her heels together and brings her hand up in a sharp salute.

Frost casts Jon a look who simply responds by shrugging his shoulders. Frost sighs and rubs a hand over his gruff face, mumbling something under his breath.

Harley giggles. “You guys worry too much. I’ll be fine.” She slaps Frost on the back before placing the card on the counter and picking up her new, nondescript coat.

“Catch you kids later! There’s a straitjacket in there with my name on it.” As Harley leaves she laughs, hearing a shared sigh follow her out the door.

♦ • ♥ • ♦

In the short walk from the subway station to the asylum, Harley has little time to finish mentally preparing herself to play the role that’s to come. As the intimidating, multi-storied building looms into view the reality of the situation kicks in.

_Holy shit, she’s actually doing this._

Passing under the iron gates, it feels as if she’s being watched from the many windows. The renovations must have been made purely on the inside because it still looks old and dilapidated on the outside.

_C’mon, Harls you can do this. _

She pauses at the foot of the ominous building. Craning her neck to peer up at the gray bricks. Harley thinks that if she looks hard enough she’ll see warnings engraved on them from past patients, phantom warnings telling her to turn back and run now while she still can.

It’s hard to quell the thought that she’s a convict being sent to prison rather than a psychiatrist headed to work. Perhaps once she’s inside they’ll _see _her and lock her up for life. Taking in a deep breath, Harley pushes the main door open.

The inside of the building is a sharp contrast to the outside of it. It’s clean and white in the reception with minimal furnishings. She spots the tall arch of the metal detectors to the right of the desk, standing proud like intimidating sentries as they guard the way that leads further into the asylum.

Plastering a smile on her face, Harley walks over to the reception desk. A man sits there, already watching and waiting for her to come over.

“Hi, I’m Dr Harleen Quinzel. I’m a newly appointed psychiatrist, working with Dr Strange. Today’s my first day.” She hopes her strained smile comes across as rookie nerves.

The blonde-haired man offers her a warm smile. “Of course, welcome Dr Quinzel, my names Henry. Henry Benson, but everyone calls me Henry. I’ve been told to expect your arrival. One moment, I’ll let Dr Strange know you’re here.” He picks up the phone and makes a short call.

“Thanks.”

He sets down the receiver. “He’ll be down in a minute.” His smile crinkles the corners of his eyes.

“Okay.” Harley’s own forced smile is starting to strain her cheeks.

“I’m sorry if it seems invasive Dr Quinzel, but I’ll have to ask you to walk through this metal detector here. It’s now standard procedure, so please if you could place your phone and bag in this tray and step through.”

Harley's quick to rein in her open irritation, but the slight tightness remains around her mouth. “Oh right, sure. No problem.”

It beeps as she walks through and a surge of panic spikes through her. Harley wonders if she’s forgotten to take out a knife she might’ve left tucked in somewhere. _Shit. Shit. Shit._

“Don’t be alarmed,” Henry says as he rises, grabbing a skinny paddle-shaped baton off the desk. “The detector is highly sensitive. It’s probably just picking up the metal in your earrings and glasses.”

“Oh,” Harley breathes out a shaky laugh.

Harley steps out from under the detector and lets Henry wave the baton over her. It beeps as it passes her head and once more as it reaches her torso.

Henry looks a little flushed as he asks, “Underwired bra?”

Harley raises an incredulous eyebrow. _Really?_ “Uh, yeah.”

He clears his throat and puts the baton down. “Sorry, Dr Quinzel.” He passes her her phone and after a quick pat-down and squeeze of her bag, he hands that to her too.

“Ah, Miss Quinzel! I’m sorry, I hope you’ll forgive us for the brazen procedure. We can’t be too careful these days.” The loud teasing voice has her looking from Henry to its owner.

A bald man with a chin strap beard, donned in a suit covered with a white lab coat is making his way towards her with sure, confident strides from down the hall. He might as well have not bothered with the social nicety as his half-assed apology leaves a sour taste in her mouth.

“Dr Strange,” he introduces, holding out a hand. Harley takes it and grits her teeth when his grip tightens unnecessarily and he shakes their hands firmly. “Welcome to Arkham Asylum, Miss Quinzel. I’m delighted to have you here.”

“Doctor,” Harley snaps.

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry.” She looks to the floor, partly to seem embarrassed at her curtness, mostly to hide her sneer and get it under control. “I worked hard for my doctorate. I’d appreciate it if you called me Doctor rather than Miss.” In all actuality, Harley couldn't care less, but his pretentious attitude has immediately gotten under her skin. Even if she didn't already have it out for him for firing Jon, it's too easy to find him dislikable.

“Of course, of course, forgive me _Doctor_ Quinzel, I do apologise,” Dr Strange hastens to apologise, looking a little hot under the collar.

Harley has to try hard not to let her satisfaction show on her face at bringing him down a peg or two. He’s probably not used to anyone talking back to him, let alone a young woman practically fresh out of college.

“Please,” he gestures a hand to the corridor ahead, “let me show you around.” Harley smiles gratefully but internally she can’t think of anything worse.

After offering Henry a small parting wave, which he returns eagerly, she follows Dr Strange down the hall. It doesn’t look like it’ll take much effort to charm Henry. He seems like the gullible type. Her smile-strained cheeks might hate her now, but it’ll make her job a lot easier in the long run if she can get him to like and most importantly trust her.

_Just think of the money, Harley._

“So, Dr Quinzel, you don’t know how happy I am to have you join our team. Seeing that you had a reference from Dr Blaney was very refreshing. He’s an old friend of mine and I’m sure you were as devastated as I was to hear about his recent passing.”

Harley hums sombrely. _Yep, devastated._

“I didn’t think he’d be one to take his own life, but I suppose the pressures of success can weigh too heavily on some. The news reported that his body was found on the University’s campus, did you hear? How horrible for the students to find. What a grisly ending. Such a shame.”

It was a pain in the ass lifting and carrying his stiffening corpse over to the large window in his office with Jon. The stench of him was overpowering and he wasn’t exactly a lean man. By the time they managed to heave and push his body out the window they were both feeling the strain of his weight in their arms and backs. She’s surprised though that the news didn’t cover his mutilation, no matter how little there was. _It was only a couple of fingers after all._ But she was pretty proud of her handiwork._ The board probably didn’t want to cause a stir and give the University a bad reputation… again._

“It is a shame,” Harley agrees softly. A shame that they couldn’t have had longer with him before his heart gave out.

“Anyhow, as I was saying, I was pleasantly surprised when I saw your application. You’re probably the most over-qualified psychiatrist we have here now. Apart from myself of course,” he chuckles.

Harley barely manages to keep her contempt from showing._ 'Of course'._

“Your young mind and pretty face might be just what we need to crack the Joker once and for all.”

Harley’s not sure what urge of hers is stronger. To stab Dr Strange in the eye with the pen in her breast pocket and listen to his screams, or to stab herself in her leg, _she roughly knows where the femoral artery is_, and let herself bleed out. It would take less than a minute and then she’d be free from this pretentious, male chauvinistic asshole.

Her hands clench into fists and she shoves them in her coat pockets before he notices. If she didn’t want to kill him before, she definitely does now.

_Best behaviour, Harls._

_Yeah, yeah. She knows._

Jon didn’t say anything against toying with him though. “How far have you gotten with him? He must be a tough patient because I thought your biography would have been out by now.” The subtle stab leaves its mark as Dr Strange puffs his chest out defensively.

“It’s hard to interview a patient who breaks out no less than a few weeks after every time he’s incarcerated,” he disputes, condescendingly. “But yes, you’re right, he is a difficult case and hopefully with your help, he might open up.”

Harley filters out Dr Strange’s ramblings from then on as he continues his tour. She guesses that she’s been suffering for at least an hour, being forced to listen to his mundane voice waffling on about the history of the asylum and his long list of accomplishments since he’s taken up the role of director. She’s daydreaming about cutting out his tongue when she pulls up to a stop beside him as he pauses next to a solid wooden door.

“This is your office. I’ll leave you to familiarise yourself with it whilst I catch up on some emails. I’ve left a file on your desk about Joker that you should read through. It should bring you up to speed with where we’re at with him. I’ll be back in twenty to show you the staff room in this wing where we can grab a coffee before we’re scheduled to interview Joker later this afternoon.”

“Sounds great.”

He takes a tablet out of his long white coat and is already tapping away on it in flippant dismissal as he turns and strides off, leaving her alone. Her smile drops the moment his back is turned. Opening the door, Harley steps inside and closes it behind her with a soft click.

She shoulders off her handbag and launches it at the couch that sits off centre in the room and rips off her coat.

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” she seethes. She wishes the walls were soundproof so she could at least scream to blow off some steam. “Or myself. I can’t do this.” Joining her bag, she collapses onto the couch with a pitiful moan. She almost lost it. She could feel her persona slipping with each grating word that passed his lips. Harley takes a deep breath and rests her head against the back of the couch, letting her eyes slip shut for a moment.

_You can do this, Harls._ The voice in her head sounds a lot like Jonathan’s. _Just think of how satisfying it will be when we’ll take our revenge on him later. Despite all his careful planning and upgrading, a snake still slipped through his net. What a blow to his omniscient ego._ A genuine smile curls her lips.

She can grin and bear this. She won’t have to deal with Dr Strange all the time, _surely_. Besides this office of hers is alright.

Although particularly drab in color, the size of it is decent. The couch she’s on is comfy and there’s an armchair sat across from it too, giving off the impression of a psychiatrist-patient arrangement. Craning her neck around she spots a desk, with a computer sat on one side, at the back of the room. Aligned against the back wall is a bookcase and along the right side sits some shelves and a couple of filing cabinets. All appear to be mostly empty by the looks of things.

Getting to her feet, Harley walks the few steps over to the wall nearest the couch and looks out the only window in the room. It’s not big but it lets enough light in to make her feel like she isn’t stuffed into a cramped box at least.

The view outside is of a sun-beaten, dusty dirt yard with a chain-link fence setting a perimeter around it. It must be the recreational area for the patients and even though she’s got a good view, being a couple of stories up from the ground, she can’t see anyone out there. There must be an allocated time slot for the patients to use it.

Remembering the mentioned file, Harley turns away from the window and heads towards the desk. Like Dr Strange promised, there on the solid wood sits a manila folder which looks surprisingly thin for such a high-profile individual.

Opening the file, the same mugshot that’s been haunting her dreams for the past few years stares back at her from the front page. Harley runs her eyes and fingers over the black and white image of Joker’s face, lingering for a moment until her attention flickers down to read the report.

_Name: unknown_

_Other names: Joker, Clown Prince of Crime, the Harlequin of Hate, the Leonardo of the Larcenous Laugh, the Ace of Knaves and the Jester of Genocide_

_D.o.B and Location: unknown, unknown_

_Age: unknown (Dental examinations suggest mid 30’s)_

_Sex: Male_

_Marital Status: unknown_

_Race: Caucasian_

_Ethnicity: unknown_

_Nationality: American (?) (American accent)_

_Height: 1.85 m / 6'1_

_Weight: 154 lbs / 11 st_

_Eye color: Brown_

_Hair color: Natural brown, Dyed green_

_Skin color: Chalk/bleached(?) white_

Frost said that Joker’s been locked up in here for the better part of four months now, it’s the longest he’s ever spent inside. Yet, all this time and they still haven’t garnered any more information than what basic observation shows.

Dr Strange must’ve jumped at the chance to hire her to help with his interviews as he’s probably got his publisher breathing down his neck with his lack of progress.

_So much for being such a resounding success, Director._

Harley flicks through the few other pages only to find that they’re short interview transcripts. She smirks as she skims her eyes over them. Looks like Joker’s been leading the director on a merry old goose chase.

Harley doubt that any of the patients in here are crazy enough to believe Dr Strange’s displays of empathy when he talks down to them from his self-imposed podium. She’s barely spent two hours with him and she already wants to blow her brains out. She can’t imagine how Joker must be feeling.

Harley checks her watch and groans. Only five minutes left of blissful silence. The coffee in here better be good if she wants to make it to this afternoon.

♦ • ♥ • ♦

_‘I’m headed straight for the castle_

_They’ve got the kingdom locked up_

_And there’s an old man sitting on the throne there_

_Saying that I should probably keep my pretty mouth shut_

_Straight for the castle’_

_ \- Castle, Halsey_

“Now I must warn you, despite your previous experience, I can guarantee that you have never met a case like Joker,” Dr Strange cautions, though his air of pride at believing Joker to be his own pet project has the warning falling flat.

The longer Harley spends with him the more she feels offended on Joker’s behalf.

They’ve taken the elevator down to the lowest level of the building and the short ride was anything but cosy. When the doors open there’s a long stretch of corridor before it opens out, revealing a guard station and a heavy iron gate in the distance.

“I’ll be doing all the talking so don’t worry about that. Joker has a way of getting inside people’s heads so until I think you’re ready, you will just observe and take notes, okay?” He must read her thinly veiled anger at being patronised as mere disappointment for he frowns, though humor shines in his eyes. “It’s for your own protection, Harleen." _Harleen?_ "He’s had five different psychiatrists in all the time he’s been here over the years. The first psychiatrist quit after two sessions and the last I found attempting to take her own life in the toilets upstairs.”

“Oh.”

He’s clearly trying to scare her but all she feels is pissed off. Especially since he took it upon himself to refer to her by her first name. If she didn’t like her legal name before, she decidedly hates it now hearing it come from his slimy mouth. Also, she can’t help but imagine how bored and irritated she’d be if it were her, stuck with arrogant or bumbling psychiatrists trying to psychoanalyse her day in and day out. She’d try to get some enjoyment out of it too.

Feeling the burgeoning of a throbbing headache, Harley glances up to the ceiling, following the intermittent lights as they make their way down the hall. She wishes she could embody Jon in moments like these, drawing on his bottomless well of patience. He makes it look so easy.

“Good afternoon, Carter, Boles,” Dr Strange inclines his head to the two guards stationed in the booth.

Harley’s eyes flick to the latter mentioned guard. Recognition of his name rings in her ears. He’s solidly built but less so than Frost. His dark hair that’s shaved to a buzz cut emphasises the roundness of his face. There’s a hint of a leer on his lips as he returns her assessment, raking his dark eyes up and down her body. Harley looks promptly away in disgust. _This guy is the help? Great._

“We’re ready for him now. Bring him in.”

To Harley’s surprise, Dr Strange turns down a hallway she didn’t realise was there instead of continuing on down the one barred by the iron gate. Dr Strange doesn’t walk far until he stops at a solid metal door and alters the metal plaque on it, changing the sign’s description from vacant to engaged. He makes a grand gesture of holding the door open for Harley which has her forcing a smile in thanks as she ducks inside.

The room is dominated by a large metal table with two chairs sat on one side and only one placed at the other. Resting on the table is a microphone connected to a recording device. It faces the solitary chair.

Dr Strange strides past her and settles in one of the two chairs nearest the door and gestures her to hurry up and sit down next to him. Harley places the file she brought from her office on the table and sits down quietly.

A sudden flurry of butterflies has her gnawing on her bottom lip. Harley doesn’t know why she’s so nervous, only that she is. When the door opens again and her head snaps up at the sound, she realises that it’s excited anticipation that she’s feeling. The thrill dissolves as her eyes devour in the image that greets her.

Boles holds the door open for Carter who rolls Joker in in a wheelchair. Harley pays no attention to the guards as she commits every little detail of him to memory. He’s trussed up in a straitjacket even though he looks lifeless, let alone harmless. His head lolls forward, swaying languidly as he’s lifted and placed none too gently into the chair opposite them. Carter then proceeds to thread a thick metal chain through the straps of his straitjacket which he then fixes to the back of the chair.

Harley frowns. “Is that really necessary?”

Carter looks up at her in surprise. “He’s a rabid dog miss. If it were up to me he’d be put down.”

Harley looks wide-eyed to Dr Strange who simply nods along. “He’s put two of my men in hospital last week alone. It’s better to not take the chance.”

Harley bites her lip and turns back to Joker. Despite his eyes being open and unwavering from a spot on the table he doesn’t look responsive. His painted face has been washed clean and his notorious dyed green hair has grown out and faded and is looking much more brown than green now. It hangs limply around his gaunt face. But still if it weren't for that hint of dye and the scars either side of his mouth, Harley would've never recognised him. She always had him pictured in her mind as this violent hurricane of dark energy, wild and unstoppable. Now it looks like a stiff breeze could blow him over.

“What have you done to him?” The whispered words fall out of her mouth.

“Oh, nothing,” Dr Strange dismisses, waving a hand. “He’s just come out of his ECT treatment so he’s a little woozy.”

_'A little?'_

If it weren’t for the steady rise and fall of his chest, she’d assume him dead. The impassive, haunted look about him is the last thing she imagined to see when meeting him.

Harley’s lucky that her hands are under the table so the director and the orderlies can’t see her nails digging into her thighs.

_They’ve ruined him._

A furious burning anger ignites within her.

Dr Strange clicks down on the recording button once Carter leaves the room with Boles and leans forward. “The date is Tuesday 3rd June 2017 and the time is thirteen-fifty-eight. I am Dr Strange, director of Arkham Asylum. Also present in the room is additional psychiatrist, Dr Quinzel and our patient known as Joker.”

Harley’s jaw clenches when Dr Strange gestures her to open the file and to be ready to take down notes. She’s never snapped a pen in half before, but with the way things are turning she’ll be breaking it off in Strange within minutes.

Dr Strange stares at Joker. “What’s your name?”

Silence.

Being this close to him now Harley takes in every detail of what he actually looks like under all his signature make up. His sharp jaw and defined cheekbones stand out to her. _He's surprisingly attractive. _Harley blinks. _The fuck?_

“Joker,” Dr Strange snaps. The man twitches. “What’s your name? Your real name?”

“J-Jo….”

_He's not... is he?_ Harley’s eyebrows raise and her grip around her pen turns lax. _No. Don’t._

“J-Jo-Joseph,” he murmurs detachedly.

The way Dr Strange’s face lights up like it’s fucking Christmas feels like a punch to her stomach.

“Joseph, what?” he coaxes gently. His body, on the other hand, has tensed up in anticipation like a coiled serpent preparing to strike.

Alarmed, Harley silently wills Joker to look at her. _Don’t answer him._

“Joseph K-”

“This isn’t consented,” Harley interrupts, glaring at the director. It's been forever since Harley's studied psychology and she just about managed to finish college with Jon supporting- _forcing- _her through the last year, but she managed to wrack her brain for something, anything to stop this. Getting information while he's in this state is breaking so many ethical guidelines.

The sharp, irate look Dr Strange throws her is a silent order to back down. Her lip curls in defiance. She'd sooner blow her cover than let Dr Strange know Joker's secrets. Movement from across the table has them forfeiting their staredown.

Joker’s looking at them. At her. Harley freezes as those dark brown, almost black-charcoal like eyes, peer into hers with a startling amount of awareness. The connection lasts for only a moment before he breaks it, leaving her to wonder if she simply imagined it. Joker tilts his head to look impassively at Dr Strange.

“Yes?” Dr Strange urges eagerly, “Your name?”

“Joseph…” Harley holds her breath. “Khur.”

Dr Strange is visibly vibrating with poorly contained elation beside her, no doubt looking at Joker with dollar signs in his eyes. Harley clenches her teeth to stop herself from tutting in anger. Dr Strange reaches over Harley and taps his hand rapidly on the file in front of her. “Quickly now. Write it down.”

Harley opens the manila folder and presses her biro to the page. _Unless..._ Her eyebrows draw together.

“What are you waiting for?” Dr Strange huffs impatiently, practically squirming in his seat in his desperation to get more answers before Joker regains his senses.

Harley ignores him and glances up at Joker through her thick-rimmed glasses. He’s slumped in his bindings still appearing as docile as before. Harley's eyes linger until his eyes lock with hers again. A spark of something flitters across his expression.

The relief she feels is instantaneous and almost overwhelming. Harley’s persona breaks as she barks out a short genuine laugh.

“Harleen!”

Harley can’t tear her eyes away now. The corner of Joker’s lip twitches.

“Joseph Khur?” Harley talks over Dr Strange’s spluttering of indignation, completely enraptured by the man opposite her.

Joker hums and leans forward, his already dark eyes seemingly darkening further. His chains clink as they’re pulled taut against the chair.

“Joseph, as in Joe?” Harley drawls, smirking knowingly. Joker’s tongue darts out to wet his lips and her eyes are drawn to the movement. She visually traces the lines of his scars and follows the curve of one back to his eyes. His pupils have dilated. “So, Joe… Khur?”

His eyes shine with a sudden brightness and a wide smile splits his face. Harley bites her lip to get her smirk under control. It’s hard though, sensing Dr Strange tensing rigidly next to her as the penny drops.

“No, no, sorry, sorry,” Joker rambles, leaning as far forward as his restraints allow. All pretence of his fatigue vanishes as he snaps his attention to Dr Strange and gives him a sharp, toothy smile. “I’m Joe King,” he whispers, before throwing his head back and erupting into hoarse peals of laughter.

The harsh sound bounces off the bare walls and when Harley chances a peek at the director, the echoing of it in their ears has him turning red in the face. He forces his chair back, yet the piercing shriek does nothing to dampen Joker’s laughs. If anything, it causes Joker to double over in his straitjacket and his laughter to turn hysterical.

“I’m getting coffee,” Dr Strange grunts as he passes behind Harley, slamming the door shut behind him as he leaves the room.

The loud bang flicks a switch in Joker, for his mouth snaps shut, leaving an unnervingly tense silence to fill the space.

Turning her head from the door, Harley slowly looks back to Joker. He’s withdrawn back behind his poker face and although that sends a pang of disappointment through her, Harley's reassured to see the glimmer of life remain in his eyes. _She's never been so relieved to have been played a fool._

Harley reaches over and with Joker carefully trailing her every movement, presses down on the button that pauses the recording. He says nothing and nothing in his face gives him away, but somehow, she gets the sense that she’s surprised him.

Settling back into her seat, Harley feels the butterflies return with a vengeance. His intense gaze is fixed on her. Yet he still refuses to show any emotion. Harley doesn’t exactly feel like she’s being dissected like an insect under a microscope, but she does consider herself being evaluated. She can’t even begin to guess what he’s thinking.

“I’m-”

“I know who you are.” His voice is low and hoarse, so he wasn’t faking that, but now it resonates with an undertone of dark, confined power.

Harley blinks. “You do?” _She guesses Frost got word to Boles after all._

“You’re not fooling anyone with those glasses.”

She snorts and takes her glasses off to look at them. “Really? I thought they were-”

“Do you wanna know why you got a job here?” His cutting tone has her bolting upright. His eyebrows narrow and the unexpected coldness in his eyes has her faltering. “Because Strange drools over pretty young things like you,” he grins unkindly. “Are you even old enough to work here?” He scoffs and mumbles something else under his breath as he relaxes back into his seat.

Harley bristles and places the glasses back on her face. “Yes, I’m 25. Why? How old are you?”

Joker tuts cuttingly. “Is that meant to be some kind of reverse psychology? Are you even trying, Doctor?”

“What?” Harley feels the blood rush to her face. She doesn’t understand why she feels so embarrassed.

“So, you thought you could just flash your pretty little face at me and I’d spill all my dark, dirty secrets, is that it?”

“What?” Harley gasps, bewildered. “No!”

“No?”

“No! I’m trying to help you.” She grinds her teeth together. _Why is he being like this?_

Joker leans forward and bares his teeth. “The last doctor who tried to help me toddled off home with a broken jaw and a pen in their gut.”

“Really?” Harley sneers, leaning in too. "‘Cause I heard you made her try to commit suicide in this very building.”

“Oh, Dr Roberts. I forgot about that one." From the tone of surprise in his murmurings it sounds like he genuinely did too. "You know it’s hard tryin' keeping track of all the rats that like to dig around my brain." He spits out the word 'rats' like its poison whilst directly looking at her.

"I told you, I'm-"

“Here to help me, yes,” he snaps. “Tell me, _Doctor_. Is it because of your failure to fix your own life that you feel the need to help me? Or are you just in it for the fame, a chance to be mentioned in Strange’s book? You can’t face your own shortcomings and yet you want me to confront my own?” Joker chuckles dryly.

_What?_ Harley gapes at him. _Where is this coming from?_ His caustic smile reaches his eyes that she feels trailing over every feature of her face.

“Were mummy and daddy too hard on you as a kid? Did you try so hard to live up to their standards only never to be good enough? Are you tryin' to prove them wrong?” Harley feels her mental walls slam down around her and her head snaps back towards the door. “Poor little Harleen, jumping in at the deep end. How could you possibly help _me_ when you couldn’t even help _yourself_.”

Joker’s harsh breathing is the only noise resounding in the otherwise silent room. Harley feels his eyes burning into the side of her face and it’s too much.

Harley snorts and a short hearty laugh bursts from her lips. She turns to him with a raised eyebrow, relishing the way his obvious glee plummets. “Is that all you had to say to get that other doc to slit her wrists? Christ and I thought I had issues. Look-”

His face falls unnaturally still again. “I don’t need your help, Doctor,” he hisses darkly.

“Fucking hell. You know what? Fine!” Harley slams her hands down on the table. “I’ll tell Frost that this was a waste of fucking time. You clearly don’t need or want my help, so good luck getting yourself out of here on your own, asshole.” If she weren’t so angry, the look of unrestrained shock on his face would have had her laughing.

Harley snatches the file off the table and roughly tugs down on the sleeve of her blouse when the cuff rises to reveal her red and black diamond band tattoo. _Fuck, she should've covered it. Better hope Strange didn't notice._ Harley stomps over to the door.

“Doctor Quinzel," Joker calls, "Harleen.”

Harley pauses, her hand clenched tight around the door handle.

She turns and pins him with a dark look, hot licks of anger rising higher. “Go fuck yourself.”

Joker's choked cough and incredulous laugh are the last things she hears as she wrenches open the door and slams it shut behind her.


	10. Chapter 10

_‘I’m headed straight for the castle_

_They wanna make me their queen_

_And there’s an old man sitting on the throne there_

_Saying that I probably shouldn’t be so mean’_

_ \- Castle, Halsey_

“What. A fucking. Disaster.” Harley bursts open the door to her apartment and slams it behind her so hard she swears it might've splintered a little.

Jon’s sat on the couch as she walks in. He folds his newspaper down nonchalantly and looks at her, apparently unperturbed by the violence. “What have you done?”

“It wasn’t me!” Typical he'd think it's something she's done. Harley hops about on one foot as she tears her shoe off the other. “It was him!” Petulantly, she throws the shoe once it’s off. It flies over Jon’s head and lands somewhere in the kitchen.

Jon cocks an eyebrow. “Who? Strange?”

“Joker!”

Jon’s other eyebrow raises to join the first.

“You know I thought this was gonna be fun,” Harley rants while taking off her other shoe, though she just drops it beside her this time as she flops on the couch next to Jon, “pretending to be the naïve little doctor. I knew it was gonna be hard, but at least it didn’t seem boring. Turns out Joker’s almost as bad as Strange and that’s saying something,” she sighs and leans her head against Jon’s shoulder. “I dunno what I expected but it wasn’t that.” She makes an irritated noise that’s meant to emphasise her resentment, but because of her disappointment it comes out as a sort of disheartened sigh.

Harley begrudges herself for even allowing herself to get so riled up and hurt about the whole thing. Joker’s unpredictable, she knows that. But still, she didn’t expect for him to show that level of animosity towards her, especially as he apparently knew she was in there for him. Granted, she didn’t presume to believe that they’d instantly get along, because God knows she’s a difficult broad to like, but she thought he’d show a little gratitude at least.

Jon must pick up on her dejection for he rearranges himself in his seat to lay his arm over her shoulders and to tuck her into his side. “It’s okay, Harls. If you don’t want to go back that’s completely fine with me. We don’t need the money. We can make do.”

Harley’s not one to give up so easily, but she can’t deny that that first meeting shook her. She wasn’t prepared to have his dark eyes bore into her with such hatred and for his sharp words to gut her so. _Why did he have to be such an ass? _Harley leans further into Jon and kicks her feet up onto the coffee table. _He said he knew who she was, so _why_ the hostility?_

“Fuck it,” Harley grumbles.

After shrugging off her coat and searching its pockets for her phone, she gets up and heads over to the island. Picking up the playing card she left on the countertop she taps the written mobile number into her phone and dials. She flips the card through her fingers as she waits for Frost to pick up.

“Hello?” a terse voice answers.

Harley can hear a low bass beat in the background which becomes dimmer as she hears a door thudding shut.

“Frosty? Frosty the snowman, is that you?”

There’s a long pause before Frost replies, sighing, “Harley?”

“You betcha, baby. So, first day was great, thanks for asking. It went as successful as a midget tryna get porn DVDs down from a top-shelf.”

Another pause. “What?”

“I saw that once. How harsh is that? Who puts midget porn on the top shelf?” Harley snickers. “Anyways yeah, it went bad. Did you manage to get word to Boles that I was there to help?”

“No.” _Jonny_ _Frost, the man of few words. Wait...._

“Really?” Harley frowns, “‘Cause Joker said he knew who I was.”

“He did?” The surprise in his voice sparks a similar yet uncertain feeling in her.

“Well, yeah….”

“That’s impossible,” Frost interjects vehemently, “Frank’s our only connection to Joker and we’re the only ones who are informed about this plan and _I_ didn’t contact him.”

“Well I didn’t and Jon couldn’t have either.” Jon turns around at the sound of his name, a clear question written on his face. ‘Tell you later,’ Harley mouths.

“Are you sure Joker knows?” Frost presses.

Harley reluctantly thinks back to how she yelled at him before she stormed out.

_‘I’ll tell Frost that this was a waste of fucking time. You clearly don’t need or want my help, so good luck getting yourself out of here on your own, asshole.’_

Harley remembers the shock on Joker's face. Was it simply because she raised her voice at him? She doubts that anyone’s talked back to him like that before and still walked away with their life. Or was it because she mentioned Frost? He shouldn’t have been surprised by that if he knew she was in there for him like he said. Or was it because she called him an asshole? Harley’s eyes widen and she almost drops her phone. _She called Joker, _the _fucking Joker an asshole. She’s so fucking dead._

“I’m not so sure now. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Harley hangs up on Jonny and slaps her phone to her forehead with a groan.

“Everything alright?”

“Maybe I should just shoot myself now.”

“What?”

Harley turns to Jon. “Will you do it? Pretty please?”

“I’m not going to shoot you, Harley,” Jon replies, deadpan. “What’s wrong?”

“You didn’t manage to get word to Boles did you?”

“No,” Jonathan answers, his tone as serious as his face. “Why? What happened?”

“I’m just gonna get blown up, shot or stabbed to death by Joker.” Harley ticks off the probable causes of death on her fingers before shrugging. “No biggie.”

Jon frowns. “Was it really that bad?”

‘Go_ fuck yourself.’_

_Yep. So fucking dead. _Harley laughs weakly. “Yes. Yes, it was.” She grabs a half-empty bottle of white wine out the fridge and closes it with a soft kick. She doesn't bother searching for a glass because she knows that if she wants to at least try and sleep tonight and forget the train-wreck that was today she might as well finish the rest of the bottle off.

“You don’t have to go back.”

If Joker’s going to kill her, she can’t and won’t just sit around, twiddling her thumbs waiting for him. “I’m gonna do this, Jon.”

“Even if it kills you?”

Harley pauses on the stairs and winks at him from over her shoulder. “Never said it wouldn’t be fun.”

♦ • ♥ • ♦

Harley’s sat in her office, legs kicked up on her desk, absentmindedly playing some bejewelled game on her phone when a knock sounds on her door. She swings her legs off and hides her phone under some papers on her desk as she cautiously answers, “Hello?”

“Harleen?” The deep voice that seeps like oil, unwelcomely into her ear, calls from behind the wood.

_If she doesn’t hear his voice again until a year from now it would still be too soon._

“Dr Strange?” Harley sneers and hopes the disdain doesn’t leak over into her tone.

Apparently taking her reply as an invitation, he opens her door just as Harley grabs a random pen and pretends to look busy.

“Are you ready?”

_Oh yeah. Round two with Joker. Ding. Ding._

Harley nods and shrugs on her newly given white lab coat. It looks like she’s going a bit overboard now on the whole doctor-look, but she’s not going to stop wearing the glasses if only just to make a point to a certain green-haired prick. Picking up Joker’s file she follows Dr Strange out her office, beginning the short trek to the max wing.

She doesn’t have to wait long for Strange to fill the perfectly fine silence as they step into the elevator. “I don’t know what you did or said to Joker yesterday but he’s adamant to see you again.”

Harley blinks. _He is? Wait… is that good or bad?_

“I must’ve knocked the device because it didn’t record anything after I left.” The way he casually glosses over his tantrum should amuse her but she can’t feel much when it feels as if her brain’s short-circuited. “But whatever you did, worked.”

“I’m sorry. What?”

Dr Strange turns towards her, the grin plastered on his face borderlines lecherous. “I knew he’d take a liking to you.”

Harley feels her eyebrows trying to disappear into her hairline as the doors open. _Why would he want to see her?_ Joker was practically spitting with rage with how he couldn’t even stand the sight of her. How does that register as _‘liking’ _her? Maybe Strange should be the one locked up in here for coming to such an absurd conclusion. _Unless he's excited to kill her. _If Harley were normal it should worry her that that thought doesn't scare her as much as it should. If anything the challenge could be fun.

As they reach the guard station Harley zones out as Dr Strange has another short conversation with Boles and Carter. Instead, she takes the opportunity to assess Boles again. Despite the same knowing leer he gives her, he otherwise shows no signs recognition for who she really is under all her makeup. _So, if Boles doesn’t know her then neither can Joker, surely._ Her blatant scrutiny appears to knock his confidence as he straightens up defensively and looks at her questioningly.

Harley needs to get Boles alone somehow and soon. There's no way she can grill him in front of the other two without completely blowing her cover. Harley doesn’t get the chance to begin planning before Dr Strange places a hand on her elbow and ushers her down the same hallway as last time. Harley squashes her reaction that screams to rip Dr Stranges hand off and break his wrist for touching her so casually. Instead, she pointedly moves her arm away, forcing a forgiving smile at his artificial apology.

“Would you like to grab a coffee together after this, Harleen?”

_What?_ “What?” Harley stares openly. _He can’t be serious._ His expectant and alarmingly hopeful eyes don’t waver though as he waits for her answer. _Fucking hell. _Harley ducks her head because there’s no way she can hold her sneer in this time.

_‘Look, the last thing I want to do is spend any more time than I have to in your mind-numbingly boring and overbearing presence. I’d rather drink bleach than listen to the absolute bullshit that comes out of your mouth, coffee or no coffee. Hell even if it's the best coffee in the world you couldn't begin to tempt me.'_

But she can’t say that.

Taking a deep breath, Harley wills her composure to settle. By the time she looks back up, Strange’s cheeks are pinker than before and his eyebrows have drawn together in the awkward silence. He looked so sure of himself a second ago. She must've left him waiting for longer than she'd thought. He clears his throat intentionally.

“Sorry, Director. You simply surprised me. If I don’t have much paperwork to fill out after this then,” Harley smiles, gritting her teeth behind her lips, “sure.”

With a noticeable sigh of relief, Dr Strange relaxes and a wide cocksure grin stretches across his face. Swiftly, Harley turns to the door and opens it with perhaps more force than strictly necessary, scowling darkly as she steps inside.

_Whyyy? Why did she agree to-_

“Doctor Quinzel, I’ve missed you.”

Harley falters. Her glare disappears altogether as her head snaps to the side. Joker’s sat in the same chair as yesterday, though he looks much more lucid today. He’s still bound in his straitjacket and chained to the chair and although he sits unnervingly still, something tells her that he’s practically buzzing with energy. This Joker is the one she initially expected to see. His dark eyes run up and down her body, leaving phantom trails of heat in their wake, before meeting hers. Where her eyes probably looking like they belong to a startled thief, his are gleaming at her as if struggling to contain a private joke. After how she ended things yesterday, seeing him this excited immediately sets her on edge.

“And Doctor Strange,” Joker murmurs as Strange walks in behind her and takes a seat, “It’s always an honor.”

Dr Strange presses down on the record button on the device and reels off the standard necessities as Harley fixes and adorns the shell of her persona and lowers herself warily into the seat next to the director.

“Sarcasm," Strange notes. "Why do you feel that, Joker? Don’t you like our talks? Joker?”

Ever since Harley's sat down, Joker’s been staring directly at her and she hasn’t looked away either. Whether that’s because her instincts are telling her not to take her eyes off the most dangerous threat in the room, or because she’s insane, never one to back down from a direct challenge like this, she’s not sure. The corner of Joker’s lips quirks upwards. _She _must_ be insane._

“Tell you what, Doc,” Joker breaks their connection and Harley feels both relieved and weirdly disappointed. She sits there silently, outwardly calm, showing through careful construction a nervous yet determined young doctor. Inside, Harley’s desperately trying to evaluate the situation and make sense of the storm of thoughts inside her head. Joker slides his gaze over to Dr Strange, “I’ll make you a deal.”

Strange frowns and even though he technically should instantly decline, because making deals are considered highly immoral in a doctor-patient relationship, he pauses.

A sly smile forms on Joker’s lips. “If you meet my terms, I’ll give you something extra juicy for your book. How’s that sound?”

Dr Strange calmly leans forward and stops the recording on the device. “What are your demands?” he asks cautiously.

“First off, I want her.”

Harley’s heart skips a beat and although she manages to keep a straight-face and merely raise an eyebrow, she swallows hard. _So fucking dead_. Harley shares a look with Strange who turns back to Joker in confusion.

“But you already hav-”

“No,” Joker snaps. “Alone.” Dr Strange struggles to reply. It must be a first for him, being at a loss for words, but Harley doesn’t blame him, she doesn’t know what to think either. “I want to get to know the lovely little psychiatrist that you got for me. So I only want her to conduct these interviews.”

Dr Strange scowls, “Joker that’s not-”

Joker leans back in his chair and his face is wiped of all traces of his good mood. The raised, old looking scars either side of his mouth stand out, looking less sinister and more harrowing with the sudden loss of a real smile.

Dr Strange’s harshly expelled sigh belies his anger and, to Harley’s surprise, his reluctant admittance. “Fine,” he growls. He doesn’t look at Harley as he gets up, as if this is all her fault.

Harley struggles with a sudden surge of panic as well as anticipation. _He's not really going to leave her alone with Joker, is he? _Harley feels her pulse beating furiously in her throat. _Is this where he kills her? _Her hands clench into fists under the table. _He can sure as hell try._

“Oh and one more thing.” Strange doesn’t even try to hide his bitterness as he turns back to Joker who’s looking at him with a lazy smile which is offset by the sharp gleam in his eyes. “I don’t want to be recorded anymore. I've had a little re-think about my consent. So, take that with you on the way out.”

Strange’s lack of control over his emotions makes Harley feel a lot better about her own lapsing performance. It also makes her want to roll her eyes at his bad temper yet laugh at it too as he huffs and snatches the device and microphone from the table.

“This had better be worth it, Quinzel.” Harley keeps her face blank as Dr Strange whispers strictly into her ear. _What? No more ‘Harleen’, Director? _“Make sure you write everything down.”

“Yes, Director,” Harley murmurs, hearing him stride out the room and all but slamming the door shut behind him.

Harley doesn't watch him leave this time. Keeping her eyes trained like cross-hairs on Joker, she anticipates any movement. He seems relaxed but other than that Harley still finds it impossible to read him. His dark eyes give nothing away, so fuck knows what he’s thinking. She’s only got a pen to defend herself if he tries anything too. _Fuck. _

_How’s she going to play this?_

The longer she looks at him and picks apart the differences she sees in this Joker compared to yesterday’s she’s still no closer to understanding his behaviour towards her. She’s at a disadvantage and they both know it. He must know she’s not an average doctor, for snapping and yelling at him like that and for clearly putting on a front when Dr Strange is around. Harley, on the other hand, knows nothing. She has no insight to him, only speculations. Being on the backfoot with someone this dangerous, with someone she knows she’s pissed off on top of that, means she can’t afford to drop her guard. Not even for a second.

“Sorry.” Softly spoken and completely unexpected, Joker breaks the silence. Harley blinks. The word sounds sincere but the spark of humor in his eyes suggests otherwise. She doesn’t have time to read into his apology before he continues. “I don’t think you’ll be having that coffee date later.”

Harley fights back a grimace. “You heard that, did you?” she replies neutrally.

“I hear a lot of things,” Joker smiles inscrutably. Harley sits up straighter and her eyes flit down to his lips. “He’s a nice guy, influential, intelligent, rich. Yet, you didn’t seem that keen.” Joker tilts his head and his long, mottled hair of brown and faded green shifts in soft waves around his face.

Harley’s eyebrows knit together. _What does he mean, ‘He hears a lot of things?’ Is he implying that he knows who she is or not?_ Harley stares, perhaps for too long, before she answers his unasked question.

“I’m not here for Doctor Strange,” she replies slowly.

“Yes. You’re here for me.”

Harley's head’s starting to hurt with all this confusion, more so from keeping it from showing on her face. _So, he either _somehow_ knows who she is and evidently doesn’t give a shit (ergo Mr Candid Asshole). Or, he _doesn’t_ know. Then what? Does he just think she’s another doctor? (That could also explain his behaviour)._

“Do you know _why_ I’m here for you?” she asks.

“I thought I did.” His eyes narrow and seemingly darken further. They look like cold hard stones. “How do you know Frost?” he growls lowly. Harley's not sure if he's trying to intimidate her or perhaps just irritated thinking she’s just dense or some shit.

The fires of her temper rise. _If she wasn’t so stubborn and didn’t need the money she would just leave, screw him._ Harley leans back in her chair and crosses her arms. “I was under the impression that you knew.”

Joker flashes his gritted teeth. “It’s pretty clear by now that I don’t." His tongue clicks out the 'T'.

_What’s he playing at?_ Harley feels her persona slipping as her lip twitches in the beginnings of a sneer. “Is that the only reason you were such a jackass yesterday then, because you _don’t_ know?”

Joker snarls and lunges forward in his seat. The metal links of the chain rattle loudly as they’re suddenly pulled taut. Harley doesn’t flinch. Some emotion flashes in his eyes and the low guttural growl he’s making at the back of his throat stops.

“How do you know Frost?” he asks quietly. The unexpected softness of his voice clashes jarringly with the sharp intensity burning in his eyes.

_Does he truthfully not know who she is? Like at all?_ _Did he really just jump to the conclusion that she was one of them? _Although that explains his disdain for her, it shouldn’t excuse it. She grinds her teeth at his complete one-eighty change and delicate tone. It really pisses her off for some reason. He's had no patience for her the entire time she's tried to talk to him and now her own is wearing thin. It's the last straw. Her whole 'good doctor' act shatters.

“Well if you had just shut the fuck up and let me finish, I’d have told you yesterday." Uncrossing her arms, she leans forwards too, though the table is so wide that they never come close to touching. “I’m working with Jonny Frost to get you out of here. But if you wanna be an ungrateful piece of shit then I will happily let you rot in here.”

Joker leans back a little and his eyes narrow but if he’s otherwise surprised by her outburst, he doesn’t show it. “Why you?”

Harley rolls her eyes. “Because I was fucking bored and volunteered. You got a problem with that?” She throws out a hand to gesture wildly at the room. “I don’t see anyone else here tryna help you out, do you?” Her accent comes out thicker when she's angry and her chest heaves with heavy breaths like she’s exhausted from going a round of physically fighting him, rather than just talking. _If you could even call it that._

_Calm down, Harls._

Harley huffs and lets her hand drop with a smack on the table. Internally she groans, feeling the tight strings of a headache blossoming. She didn’t think she’d have to keep _all_ her walls up around Joker. It would’ve been nice taking a break from playing the her role while she was alone with him. It might’ve even been fun, having their own inside joke. But apparently, even _he_ won’t let her catch a break and let her be herself. _'Why you?' _ _Why? Why the fuck not? __What's wrong with her? _Harley want's to scoff. _Asshole._

Joker’s remains strangely quiet. Harley sighs before looking back up at him. Only he’s scrutinising her wrist that rests on the table. _Huh, odd_. Her sleeve has hitched up so it’s bare, most likely from all her waving about. She remembered to cover up her diamond-patterned tattoo with foundation this morning. She’s lucky that no one saw it yesterday, it could’ve raised a few suspicions.

Harley tugs her sleeve back down and Joker’s eyes slide up to lock with hers. Harley takes a deep breath, “Look, I get that being in here for so long must be a bitch, but I’m really only here to help, alright?”

Joker’s face is unreadable. “Who are you, Harleen Quinzel?”

Harley does scoff then. “Well, I’m not her for a start.” She suppresses the urge to take off her glasses and rub the bridge of her nose. Maybe she can swipe some strong painkillers before she leaves, this is a hospital after all._ They've probably got the good stuff too. _“I’m a... complication.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“And yet it doesn’t have to be this complicated for us to be on the same page.” Harley glances at the clock on the wall and sighs once more. “Our time’s almost up.” She orders the papers in his file and closes it. Joker’s fallen silent again but Harley feels too wrung out to try and figure out why.

Something heavy settles over her and her headache feels like a dull throb underneath it all. Her righteous anger fizzles out having grudgingly understood that Joker’s attack on her was nothing personal. Not really. It leaves her feeling almost calm. _No not calm,_ she realises, _just tired_. That weary sort of tiredness, the kind you feel deep in your bones. The thrill of getting to meet Joker has worn off with having actually met him and his _sparkling_ personality. Although bearing that in mind she will admit she’s also partly to blame for their rocky start. A large part of her desperately, hopelessly wishes it could’ve gone differently. So much for her giddy daydreams of meeting her hero.

Harley stands and feels her persona sliding back over her. “I need to keep up appearances while I’m in here, so if you could feed me some bullshit just to keep Strange happy that’d be great. Or if you don’t want my help, I can ask Jonny to-”

“Why didn’t you want Strange to know my name yesterday?” Joker cuts in, his voice barely rising above a murmur. “For a moment you genuinely thought I was going to tell him who I was. I could tell.” Straining forward in his seat, his dark charcoal eyes fixate intensely on hers as if compelling her to answer.

Harley shrugs and impulsively decides to answer the strange and abrupt change in topic honestly. “Whoever you were isn’t who you are now. Strange doesn’t have the right to know either of you.”

No laughter follows her out the door this time, but whilst closing the door behind her she takes one last contemplative glance at Joker. He’s watching her leave with an odd intense look in his eye. Harley can’t shake the feeling of his piercing stare following her all the way back to her office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. I'm trying to get a chapter out within seven days of the last, but I might miss that deadline again. I hope you liked this chapter and please leave a kudos if you did. Constructive criticism is always welcome and comments are such a delight to read. They're really special to me and always appreciated. ♥ - B_L


	11. Chapter 11

_‘You can’t wake up, this is not a dream_

_You’re part of the machine, you are not a human being_

_With your face all made up, living on a screen_

_Low on self-esteem, so you run on gasoline’_

_ \- Gasoline, Halsey_

_The next day._

Her heels click against the hard tiles, sounding louder than normal as the noise bounces off the walls of the quiet, long and narrow corridor. In one hand she holds Joker’s file, in the other a flask of coffee that she brought from home. Taking a sip, Harley’s eyes briefly close and she sighs. _Sooo_ _much better than the shit they serve in here._ A slight burn warms her throat which is unrelated to the temperature. _Well, who would guess that young and innocent Doctor Harleen would dare to add a splash of vodka to her morning caffeine fix. _She would’ve added another, _make that two more,_ shots if Jon hadn’t been lurking behind her. Though it’s probably for the best that she didn’t. It would have made it harder to control her mouth and keep it from running away and saying what she actually thinks. This should be enough to just take the edge off, or so she hopes.

Upon reaching the guard station, Harley only sees Frank Boles awaiting her arrival. She politely smiles as she approaches.

“Morning, Dr Quinzel,” Frank greets her, a flirtatious quirk lifting the corner of his lips.

“Mr Boles,” Harley nods. Peering through the barred window, finding still no sign of Carter.

“Call me Frank, honey. Say, what’s a pretty thing like you doing in a scary place like this?”

Harley turns back to Frank with deliberate slowness, an incredulous eyebrow fully raised by the time she faces him again.

_Seriously?_

“Boles, get your ass over here! I won’t be able to restrain him by- Dr Quinzel, hi!”

Harley snaps her mouth shut as Carter appears and plasters a smile on her face.

“Good morning, Carter.”

“We’ll be out with him in a minute if you wanna go ahead and get set up, Dr Quinzel,” he smiles from behind the iron gate. In his arms he carries hand cuffs and chains draped over a straitjacket.

_Guess she’ll have to wait a bit longer to have her chat with Frank._

“Okay.”

“We won’t be long.” Frank winks as he leaves the booth.

Harley pauses before she takes her leave down the other corridor. She observes Frank as he swipes his key card down a slot in a new and fancy high-tech-looking machine at the side of the gate. He then presses his thumb onto, what looks to be like a small scanner. The machine beeps once and the gate starts to slide open. Not waiting for it to finish opening all the way, Harley turns and heads down to the interview room.

_That might be a problem._ She hopes that her staff key card and fingerprint will grant her access down that corridor too. It must lead to the high-risk patient cells and she needs to be able to have access to it to get to Joker. It’s vital to be able to get to him at any time, no matter where he is in this building. It’s crucial to busting him out, especially in the case of an emergency. Harley's still not entirely sure exactly _how _she’s going to get him out of here yet, but hopefully Jon and Frosty can think up something. That reminds her, she needs to get Frank alone. There can't be just one way in and out of max-wing, like there's got to be some stairs in case of a fire, right? He'd know.

After sliding the sign on their usual interview room door from vacant to engaged, Harley enters the room. The room itself is still depressing as always. Cold and dark from having no windows and only one hanging light. Harley wonders if Strange would agree to let her take Joker up a level and conduct the interviews in one of the ground floor rooms, where there will at least be some fucking sunlight and maybe even a splash of paint and perhaps a plant or two. Anything would be step up from this miserable gray box. _Is that damp? Ugh._ She could wrangle it as a reward for good behaviour or something. _He’s reforming, Director, cross my heart and hope you die._

Harley settles in her seat and frowns as a thought crosses her mind. _When _was_ the last time Joker saw or felt sunlight? _If not for the clock on the wall even she struggles to guess what time of day it is down here. _Does he ever get to use the yard outside? _She very much doubts it. Even if Joker has been good, which she doubts even more, Strange seems to be the uptight type who would withhold that privilege just to spite him.

A knock on the door alerts her attention. “Come in.”

The door opens and Joker’s led through. He’s walking this time, wheelchair nowhere to be seen. Frank and Carter still flank him closely though, if not closer, on either side. Carter’s hand hovers over the taser resting in his belt the entire time until the moment comes where he’s able to shove Joker down in the chair opposite her.

Despite seeing him twice now, the physical presence of Joker never fails to leave her bubbling with curiosity and rapt with suspense. Harley’s reluctant to call it excitement because of his previous antagonistic behaviour towards her. _Goodbye, starstruck feeling._ However, after going home and explaining and working through the whole confusion and miscommunication to Jon, she feels as if she understands Joker a little better, having clarified where they’re at with each other. _Like hopefully killing her is off his agenda. _Though that’s not to say that their time together will be all smiles and tea parties now because Harley’s still unable to shake a sense of uncertainty when she’s with him. Joker is unreadable and unpredictable and she remains to feel as though she can’t relax around him. But she will admit that she’s feeling better about seeing him today compared to yesterday. She feels a lot more confident, but that’s maybe just the vodka talking.

_‘If you think he’s simply going to keep winding you up, then you’d better not disappoint me.’_

_‘Huh?’_

_Jon tossed her a side-long smirk. ‘If anyone’s mastered being a pain in the ass it’s you, Harley.’_

The ghost of her smile from that memory of last night reappears on her lips and she can’t help but sharpen and flash it at Joker as Carter begins chaining him to his seat. _Anything you can do, I can do better. _Joker lifts an eyebrow and a hint of a playful smirk teases his lips.

“Don’t worry about the chain restraints,” Harley quickly informs.

Carter pops his head up, shock is written clearly across his face. “But Doctor Qu-”

Harley holds up a hand and relaxes her face, emphasising a show of friendly authority. “It’s fine Mr Carter, I’ll handle it from here.” Seeing that he’s still not going to let it drop, Harley wants to scowl but politely interjects again, “I’ll be fine, he’s still confined in his straitjacket.”

Carter frowns deeply making the lines grooved into his forehead grow more prominent. He relents, “I won’t take the shackles off his ankles and at least take this,” he reaches down to his belt and plucks a small device off. He slides it across the table to her. Harley picks it up and turns it over. It looks like a clicker or remote of some kind. There’s only one button on it. “It’s a panic alarm,” Carter clarifies, “Activating it sends an alert to the guard station, so even if you just feel threatened, press that button on the top and we’ll come rushing back.”

Harley sets it down and off to the side of the table. “Thanks, I will.”

Frank looks to Carter like Harley's lost her mind but shrugs anyways. The latter guard hesitates for a moment longer, pinning Harley with one last uncertain look before finally conceding and follows Frank out the room. The door closes behind them with a soft click. Harley expects Joker to immediately launch into battering series of questions, demanding to know what her plan is to get him out of here, but he doesn’t. Instead, he calmly watches her. There’s something brewing behind his eyes and Harley’s incited to find out what.

Joker slides an amused glance from the panic alarm to Harley. He says nothing. Casually he leans back in his chair, slouching a little, his lilted smile unwavering. Joker continues to remain silent, though his eyes never stray from hers. Harley has his complete and undivided attention. The dark shimmering orbs of unconcealed laughter dare her to break the silence.

Harley feels a smirk tugging at her own lips and she doesn’t hide it this time. _So, he wants to play, does he?_ Flipping open the folder, Harley copies Joker's relaxed posture and settles back against her own chair. She pretends to ignore him for a moment as she looks over his file.

“So,” she drawls, “Clown Prince of Crime, the Ace of Knaves,” Harley rattles off his titles, theatrically quoting the report, “the Harlequin of Hate, the Jester of Genocide, the Breaker of Chains, Mother of Dragons,” she snorts and looks at Joker over the file with a raised eyebrow. “Bit ridiculous isn’t it?”

Joker grins and shrugs as best as he can in his straitjacket. “I didn’t choose them.”

“Well, they’re going to run out of different ways of saying clown soon. Though I doubt they’ll run out of rhymes or alliterations,” she rolls her eyes, “Jesus fucking Christ. Look at this one; the Leonardo of the Larcenous Laugh,” Harley laughs incredulously.

Joker chuckles. The sound of it is low and husky. It makes the hairs on the back of Harley’s neck prick up and not unpleasantly which surprises her. “The people love to give an evil villain a title. Makes it easier to hate them.” He leans forward. “Do you believe in evil, Dr Quinzel?”

Harley brushes off the sensation as she thinks his question over. “As in good and evil? Right and wrong?” Joker nods and Harley wants to glance away. She can’t get over how pinned down and flayed open she feels under the weight of his gaze. She doesn't think she's ever been the object of anyone's focus like this before, never this intense anyways. _It's... odd._ “Nothing’s ever so black and white. Evil is just a concept,” Harley eventually answers. Why she feels so flustered giving her personal opinion she doesn't know. _It's just a question, right?_ But then why does she feel as if she's being tested? Part of her doesn't want to say the wrong thing and set off another argument with him, but most importantly she just wants to speak her mind, why should she give a fuck what he thinks? _Does her answer even matter? Where's he going with this?_

“You wouldn’t apply it practically?” Joker asks, watching her with the same void expression. “A lot of people would argue that the things I’ve done are evil - I’m evil."

“You’re not evil,” Harley throws back instantly and a flare of intrigue sparks across Joker’s face before it vanishes. Harley blinks in shock too with how blunt and quick her reply came, she didn't have to think before blurting that out. It felt natural. Truthful. For reasons unknown to her, Harley has to fight a slight bout of heat from rising in her face and feels the need to justify her answer. “Anyone who just slaps an ‘evil’ label on you and calls it a day is basically them saying that they know nothing about you. If anything, I think it says more about the person calling you it.”

Joker pauses and tilts his head. A sudden wide smile stretches his lips. “Are you tryin’ to appeal to my vanity, Harleen? Or are you tryin’ to prove your worth?”

Harley barks a laugh and smirks, "Yes." Despite the subtly hardened edge of his words, she’s not fazed by them. Whether he's testing her or teasing her, this new side of him is actually soothing her nerves. Harley can deal with a playful Joker, hell even one that wants to play mind-games with her, anything but the spiteful asshole she first met.

Joker grins and even though his smile is razor-sharp it appears genuine. “Tell me about your plan to get me out of here.”

_Shit._ Harley was dreading this question. “Uh, it’s a working progress.”

“You’re telling me you don’t have one?” How Joker manages to sound both appalling disbelieving and yet hilariously entertained at the same time she doesn’t know.

“I have an idea,” Harley stresses, though even she can hear the uncertainty in her voice.

“She has an idea,” Joker repeats under his breath. His lips twisting and mirroring the mocking amusement in his eyes.

Harley glowers. “The plan so far has been focused on infiltrating,” she defends, “I report back to Frost every night where we discuss the obstacles and work out solutions.” Harley folds her arms across her chest. “If it was so straightforward why couldn't have you gotten yourself out of here already? There’s a lot of shit to deal with.” Harley frowns and bites down on her lip before she spits out something she might regret. She doesn’t want to face off with him again. She needs to stop taking his words to heart. It’s not helping either of them. Harley sighs quietly, “Does Boles keep you updated?”

Joker runs his eyes over her face and allows her redirection. “Apparently not enough.”

“We couldn’t get word to him about this,” Harley apologises, “Personally, I think Frost has doubts about trusting him. Thinks he might fess the whole thing to Strange just to keep his job or something. What do you think?”

Joker hums. “Frank’s a coward but he’s loyal. You can trust him.” He sounds firm in his belief.

Harley unfolds her arms and wants to breathe a sigh of relief. That's good enough for her. “Great. I’ll tell Jonny. Having him on board should make things run a lot smoother. I hope.”

Joker peers at her with unveiled curiosity. The sudden openness he's displaying is startling but not unwelcome. “How did you meet Frost?”

Harley chuckles lightly. “We met in a bar and the funny thing is he wasn’t even after me but rather my friend.” Joker arches an eyebrow at her questioningly. Harley expands, “I dunno if you’ll know him, he didn’t work in max-wing. Jonathan Crane?”

Joker’s eyes light up. “Doctor Crane? I never met him, but I would’ve liked to. I heard that he was fired.”

“He was.”

“I heard it was collateral and not because of his,” Joker wets his lips and lowers his tone to a staged conspiratorial whisper, “unorthodox methods of treating his patients.”

Harley’s eyes narrow. “How’d you know about that?”

Joker leans forward, coming to a stop further forward than his chains would have previously allowed. Harley doesn’t back away. “Nothing happens in this building without me knowing about it,” he murmurs darkly. They stare challenging at one another before Joker either finds what he’s looking for or grows bored and breaks the heavy silence. Harley doesn’t find out as Joker simply flashes her a smile, “Sorry.” He relaxes back against his chair. “Continue.”

Harley runs her eyes shrewdly over him. She’s reluctant to believe that he’s threatening Jon with the knowledge he has. Why would he? They’ve never met. Is he holding it as blackmail? Why? She's already agreed to help him so that doesn't make sense. Joker’s interest in Jon seemed honest enough. Maybe she's reading more into it than there is?_ Fuck sake._ Harley's desperate to know what he’s thinking.

Cautiously Harley continues, shrugging nonchalantly, “So, with Jonathan being out of the picture, Frost agreed to sign me up instead.” Until she feels she can trust Joker, Harley decides against revealing more about Jon. If this goes up in flames she doesn't want him caught in the crossfire.

“So you’re a qualified Psychiatrist then, _Doctor_ Harleen Quinzel?” Joker teases, wetting his lips.

“I’ve got a PhD in Psychology, not that I’ve actually used it for anything,” she rolls her eyes. “Frost got a _friend_ of yours, Doctor Perez I think, to forge a reference for me to make my application seem more legit. Oh and please stop calling me that,” Harley adds as an afterthought. Reaching for her coffee she grimaces at his full use of her name. “Just call me Harley.”

“Harley.” Her name rolls off Joker's tongue as he practically purrs it. It doesn’t make Harley feel uncomfortable but the feeling’s not too dissimilar. The hairs on the back of her neck are prickling again. “So, Harley,” he grins wolfishly, “what’s a strange thing like you doing in a pretty place like this?”

Harley blinks in shock before belting out a laugh, almost spilling her drink. Snickering, she shakes her head and takes a sip of her flask. “Frank asked me the same thing more or less. I told you, I was bored. I thought this might be fun.”

“And is it?”

Harley looks up. He sounds curiously attentive. The corner of Harley’s lip curls upwards. “It’s mildly entertaining at best.”

Joker gasps. “Ooh, that’s cruel, Doc.”

“Sorry,” she grins, sounding not in the least bit sorry as she takes another sip of her coffee. Joker doesn’t look put out. If anything he looks delighted as he watches at her. Pulling the flask down a thought springs to her mind as Joker tracks her movements. She blurts it out, “Do you want some?”

Joker’s grin fades and Harley tenses. His brows crease in thought. “What?”

“Do you want some coffee?” Harley hesitantly repeats whilst feeling like smacking herself in the face.

“Unless you have a straw tucked away somewhere, doctor,” he pointedly looks down to his confined arms, “I’ll have to take a rain check on a coffee date,” he chuckles, winking.

_Why the fuck did she even offer?_ Harley rolls her eyes at him but feels the mortification burning up inside her. Another thought pops into her head. She could offer to hold it for him as he drinks but that would be beyond awkward. _Don’t ask._ Would he even accept? If for some reason he did, she imagines that he would stare, unblinkingly at her the entire time and she’d no doubt end up dropping it and scalding him. _Dear God._ Harley really hopes her blush isn’t visible through her foundation.

Distracting herself, she looks to the clock. “We’ve only got ten minutes left.” _Wait, really?_ _It feels like they’ve only just begun talking. Where has the time gone? _Harley tries not to seem disappointed as she turns back to Joker. “Is there anything you can tell me that I can write down? Like your age? Ethnicity? Nationality? Just something basic. It doesn’t even have to be true.”

Joker looks at her long and hard and for a moment she doesn’t think he’ll answer. “I’m American.” Harley startles. Joker nods his head in a gesture for her to start writing this down. Harley unfreezes and takes a pen out of her coat pocket. “Born in America. 32.”

Harley jots down the information next to the ‘unknowns.’ By the time she’s finished, Joker’s fallen silent and a glance up to his face shows that he’s closed off any and all expression. The disappointment settles immediately along with an unwarranted sense of guilt in Harley. She misses his openness now that it's gone, though she'd be damned to admit it.

Harley’s got no idea if he’s telling her the truth or not but for some reason, she undoubtedly believes him and that's where the guilt comes in. Harley knows that she's not digging for information to crucify him with, but she doesn't want him to second-guess that she is. Which is why she doesn’t press him for answers on where or when exactly he was born. She very much doubts that he'd tell her anyways but most importantly she doesn’t _want_ to give Strange the satisfaction of a potential lead into his past. _She wants Joker to trust her_ and that honest desire bewilders her.

Harley hesitates to confirm that he’s okay with giving her this. _Would it seem insulting?_ She thinks so, so she doesn’t. Joker wouldn’t tell her anything he doesn’t want her to know, right?

“Thanks,” Harley murmurs, trying to not make a big deal out of it. “That should be enough to keep Strange occupied for now.”

“Tomorrow’s our last session for the week. I’m off for the weekend, but I’ll be back in again on Monday.” Harley bites her bottom lip. Joker’s watching her impassively, still hiding his thoughts and emotions. It really is quite impressive that has such control. Harley’s somewhat envious of him. Even Jon tells her that no matter how hard she tries she always seems to wear her heart on her sleeve. _Goddamn stone cold men._

“Is there anything I can get you? I mean they’ve got this crazy-sensitive metal detector at the front desk now, so until we work out how to get past that I can’t smuggle you in any weapons,” she jokes half-heartedly, “but I could bring you a book or something?” Some emotion dents Joker’s mask, but it’s already gone before she has a chance to recognise it.

He doesn’t reply.

Harley feels a hot wave of embarrassment creeping up her neck. _What's next? Ask him if he want's tucking in at night? Fucking hell, Harley._ “Ookay,” Harley pockets her pen and closes the file. “Good talk. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’d better not hang about or taser-happy Carter will bust down the door.” Collecting her flask, Harley offers Joker one last hesitant smile, hoping she hasn’t ruined their tentative alliance by overstepping.

He surprises her.

“Until tomorrow,” Joker murmurs, his lips twitching in what looks like a faint smile, “Harley.”

♦ • ♥ • ♦

_That evening._

Harley dragged Jon along with her to talk to Frost in person tonight. So after taking the playing card, he and Harley jumped on the tube and rode the short journey north to Amusement Mile, where they eventually matched the address on the card to the right street and found Joker’s club. The old and worn exterior of the club had Harley double-checking the card against the street name and the sign above the door. If you could even call it a sign. It’s written in graffiti and it’s the only thing sprayed on the building.

It reads ‘Madhouse.’

It wasn’t what Harley expected but as she pulls open the door, she realises that the unappealing front is only a disguise. Stepping inside they’re greeted with a wide, richly decorative corridor with two large, suited up bouncers guarding a set of double doors straight ahead. Harley bounds up to them, Jon trailing leisurely behind. She holds up the Joker playing card and without saying a word, the two men turn and open the doors for them. The music of the club immediately blares out and even Jon looks impressed by the quality of the apparent soundproofing. _There’s no way that this is just a club. _Though the atmosphere inside tries to dissuade her otherwise.

The street outside was fairly quiet but in here it’s chaos… and also very gold. The room is packed. The booths are all occupied and the floor is swamped with people dancing. Scantily clad girls and boys that appear to work here (judging by their similar gold themed outfits) dance on the stage or inside large, platformed glass boxes that scatter about the floor. They’re putting on quite the performances which the crowd are loving if their loud cheering is any indication. Despite the low lighting the whole room is cast in a golden glow as it reflects off the all the metal elements in the room. Even the upholstery of the furniture is gold. Instead of appearing gaudy, it’s tasteful with how elegant and well put together the room is. This place screams wealth and high class, even with some of the dancers erotically grinding against the poles on stage. It’s a complete contradiction but it works effortlessly. It's not a place she imaged Joker would own though to be honest, he doesn't seem to care about materialistic wealth. That's probably why the Batman hasn't busted down the front door yet. There's no better place to hide than in plain sight, where no would would think to look.

The thudding beat of the music and the energy of the crowd has Harley buzzing. Jon, as if sensing her excitement, places a hand on her lower back and ushers her away from the dance floor and towards the bar. Harley wants to sulk but grudgingly agrees that business should come first. _Look at her being all professional and shit._

Feeling free from her constraints of playing the part of good Doctor for the day, Harley skips ahead and flags down the bartender. She deserves a drink after the week she’s had.

She leans forward as a guy comes to a stop in front of her. “Hey! Can you tell Jonny Frost we’re here? Tell him it’s Harley and Jon. Oh and I'll have a French martini and an old fashioned too pretty please and don’t skimp on the raspber- Frosty!” Harley’s wandering eyes spot Jonny talking to a guy in a booth over to her right.

The man is similarly dressed to Jonny, wearing a black suit and white shirt, though unlike Jonny he forgoes the jacket. Frost’s head snaps up and she’s surprised that he heard her over the music. Harley waves enthusiastically and she’s not sure from this distance but it looks like he sighs deeply.

Apparently deciding to wrap up his conversation, Jonny dismisses the guy who merely nods and walks off. Harley watches as the man disappears through a door that Harley wouldn’t have spotted unless it was pointed out to her. It blends into the wall seamlessly, hiding amongst the damask wallpaper. Interesting. _Definitely not your average club._

Their drinks are slid across the bar just in time as Frost waves them over. Harley reaches into the back pocket of her tight black jeans to pull out some cash, but the bartender just leaves the drinks and disappears. Harley looks to Jon thinking he’s paid, but he looks as perplexed as she is. Not one to complain about free booze, Jon takes both their drinks and gestures Harley ahead.

Weaving her way through the crowd, Harley opens a path for them to Jonny. Jonny is the only one at his booth and despite the club being crowded no one seems brave enough to try and take it off him. It looks different from the other booths, being distanced, larger and partially veiled off by a curtain of golden beads. It’s also the only booth that’s near the covert door that that guy went through. _It must be Joker’s private booth,_ Harley realises. _Even when he's locked away no one dares to take what's his._

Harley feels a pang of sadness that Joker’s not here himself. She’d love to see him free and unrestrained, unleashed in his element. She wonders what he’d be like on the outside.

Harley didn’t think she’d enjoy their talk as much as she did today. It’s the first time since she’s started working there that she’s left feeling positive. Instead of dreading the thought of going back there again, she’s actually looking forward to tomorrow for a change.

“Frosty!” Harley grins and launches herself at him, tackling him with a hug that he clearly wasn’t prepared for. He grunts and carefully but forcefully extracts himself from her claws. Backing up, he waves a hand, looking at someone over Harley’s shoulder.

Harley turns. Standing next to a pillar, off to the side of the booth and near the hidden door, a suited man, similarly dressed to the bouncers outside, relaxes and tucks his handgun back inside his jacket. _Oh, shit._ His small eyes narrow and remain fixed on Harley, a clear warning etched in them. Harley grins and blows him a kiss. His eyes narrow further.

“Come,” Frost orders gruffly. He leads them past the stern security guard and to the secret door. It swings open as Jonny pushes on it and he holds it open for Jon and her. The passageway ahead is exposed with gray bricks. It lacks all the detailed refinery from the club, bar a few golden filigree lamps on the walls. After a metre or so there’s a set of stone stairs leading down into the building’s basement.

“Wow if this didn’t look so warm and inviting, I’d think it look serial-killery.”

Jon chuckles behind Harley while Jonny says nothing and skirts around them, leading the way down the stairs. The door swings shut behind them, cutting off most of the sound from the club though the music is still faintly audible.

Reaching the bottom, the stairs open out into a large open plan living room-kitchen. There are three guys dotted about on some couches and armchairs, huddled around a coffee table playing poker, but they all look up at their arrival. They appear curious but don’t ask any questions as Frost leads them through the room and into another.

Inside, it reminds Harley of her office back in the asylum, except this one's larger and looks like a meeting room combined with an office with the large table arrangement in the middle. Jonny motions them to take a seat in one of the many chairs while he takes a seat in the one opposite. They oblige and Jon hands Harley her drink.

“So, what do you have to tell me that you couldn’t over the phone?”

“Aw, Frosty. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you didn’t like me.” Jonny stays silent as he waits for an answer. _Alright, be boring._ “Fine. Strange is still none the wiser and Joker gave me some information to keep him happy and off our backs for a while. Joker also said that Frank can be trusted but I haven’t had a chance to chat with him yet.” Jonny hums thoughtfully and Harley pauses to take a sip of her drink. “Ooh, that’s pretty good. Hm, what else? Oh yeah, they’ve got a key card and fingerprint recognition system in place to access the max-security patient cells. I need to know if I have authorised access and if not, I guess need to ask Strange for it,” Harley grumbles, shuddering to think of needing to ask him for anything. “Other than that, all that stands in the way to the exit is an elevator ride up to the ground floor, winding corridors and a series of patrolling guards. But I was thinking that there's got to be stairs right? I haven't seen any though."

Jonny nods. “There must be another way to and from the ground floor to the basement. If the building loses power the elevator won’t work.” Jonny gets up and opens a cabinet drawer, pulling out the familiar blueprint of Arkham Asylum. He places it on the coffee table between them. “The stairs aren’t detailed on here. Ask Frank, he should know.”

“So you’re going to cut power to the Asylum? How? They have several back-up generators,” Jon queries with a frown.

“Harley or Boles will have to disable them.”

"Oh really? You make it sounds so simple," Harley remarks, rolling her eyes.

“There’s a master control panel somewhere. In the case of an emergency, like a fire breakout, the patients can all be released from their cells by one switch,” Jon recalls. “Although I’m not sure if it runs on the same circuit as the maximum-security wing.”

Jonny hums. “We need to get Frank informed as soon as possible. He should know all of this.” Harley raises an eyebrow at the urgency in his voice.

“Is there a deadline I don’t know about?”

Frost regards them both, weighing his answer. “There have been more territorial disputes between rival gangs,” he admits, “Since Joker’s still inside, Penguin and Two-Face especially have been bolder in targeting our warehouses and supply routes. It’s hitting us hard. We need Joker out.”

Harley notes the dark circles under Jonny’s eyes as he runs a hand roughly over his face. She feels kind of sorry for him. Harley offers her cocktail to him and he surprises them all by chuckling and taking a drink.

“Don’t worry, Frosty. We’ll get him out. Now,” Harley grins, “who wants to come upstairs and dance with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this chapter is late out, please forgive me, I've had a busy week.  
Has anyone else gone and seen Joker yet? It's fucking insane!! Joaquin Phoenix was incredible! I mean you can't compare his performance with Ledgers, but he still deserves an oscar in his own right imo.  
Anyways I hope you liked this chapter ♥ - B_L


	12. Chapter 12

_‘Oh, all of these minutes passin’, sick of feelin’ used_

_If you wanna break these walls down, you’re gonna get bruised’_

_ \- Castle, Halsey_

Harley’s late. _So fucking late_.

Running up the gravelled path to the asylum, she juggles carrying her bag with the six coffees she spontaneously decided to make a detour for. She kind of regrets getting them now though because she didn’t realise how slow the queue was going to move and of course today is the day that her session with Joker is scheduled for the morning rather than the afternoon.

Huffing, Harley quickens her pace hoping that her face doesn’t look as red as it feels. So much for making her hangover feel better.

Pushing open the door with her shoulder, Harley inches through the gap keeping a steady iron grip on the cupholder. The near blinding pristine white of the reception room though has her wincing and almost dropping the cups. She wished she wore her sunglasses today.

Harley perhaps had one drink too many at Joker’s ‘Madhouse’ last night. Having to leave this morning after seeing Jon curled up fast asleep in his bed when she poked her head into his room left her feeling amused as well as jealous. Despite his griping, she knows he had a good time last night too. Hell, even Jonny cracked a smile. Though he, like Jon, refused to dance with her. _Party-poopers._

“Dr Quinzel!” Henry’s voice calls. Harley looks up to see him standing behind his desk, watching her with concern, apparently ready to leap to her aid. “Do you need a hand?”

Harley smiles. “On no thank you, Henry.” Carefully she makes her way over to him, thankfully with no coffee fatalities. Breathing a sigh of relief, Harley places the coffees down on the countertop with her bag. “I’m sorry I’m late. I thought I’d make a quick coffee run, but I underestimated the queue. Here,” she wiggles two of the cups out of the cardboard and offers one to him and the orderly (_Terry? Jerry?) _stationed next to the metal detector. Both men blink at her in surprise.

Terry _or Jerry_ must’ve been on his lunch break or something the first time she arrived because he’s been here every day since, taking over the role of waving the baton over her as she passes through the metal detector each time. He’s professional, borderline cold and distant. Not one to chat with her, which if she’s honest is fine because she can’t stand small talk, but it’s not helpful in getting him to like her and gaining his trust. Hence the caffeine bribery. If she can’t force herself to prattle on about inane bullshit, then subtle manipulation through ground Arabica beans it’ll have to be. 

Unfortunately though, not everyone shares her opinion on small talk. Henry’s one of three receptionists here and he will happily chat away about anything and everything to her. The others are a stern middle-aged man and a miserable, sharp-tongued young woman. Out of the three, Harley reckons Henry is her best shot at exploiting. He’s young, friendly and a genuinely nice guy, but most importantly he’s naïve. Being consistently greeted by his puppy-like overexuberance almost makes her feel bad about lying to him. Almost.

“I thought you guys might like some coffee.” Harley cheerfully steps through the metal detector with the other coffees. It beeps like it always does.

Terry, she confirms by quickly swiping a glance at his staff identification card that’s clipped to his breast pocket, eyes her guardedly but takes the coffee. _Seriously, who _would_ turn down free coffee? _He murmurs a thanks and sets it aside whilst he runs the baton over her. No blaring suspicions arise. Then he peers into her handbag and shuffles around her things for a moment until he’s happy and passes it back to her. Harley picks up the remaining coffees and smiles at him again, practically preening and although he doesn’t smile back, she gets a hint that he is warming to her now. Good.

“Gee thanks, Harleen. This is really good,” Henry gushes, holding his cup with both hands and sighing as he relaxes back into his chair.

“No problem. See you two later,” Harley calls sweetly over her shoulder as she rushes off down the corridor.

_Hm, so even if she is in a rush, they still won’t let her in without checking her. Stupid stickler, Terry. _Well that’s annoying, but it’s not the end of the world. Operation power shortage is looking pretty useless when it comes to getting past the front desk because even if the metal detector doesn’t work, it won’t stop Terry from checking her over with his baton and looking in her bag. She can't quite talk her way out of trying to smuggle in weapons. _Perhaps a distraction will work, but what? _Joker might have an idea.

Thinking of, Harley checks her watch and grimaces. She hopes he isn’t mad that she’s late. They were supposed to start ten minutes ago. She could always extend their session; Joker doesn’t exactly have any other pressing engagements to attend. It shouldn’t raise any flags with Dr Strange. Hell, he might even be pleased.

Now that they’re not tearing at each other’s throats, Harley likes the idea of spending more time with Joker. It was fun, skating the ice with him yesterday as they tested each other’s boundaries. A part of Harley wants to see how far she can push him, but a logical, _boring,_ part warns her against poking a ticking time bomb, if only for Jon and Frost’s sakes. 

Darting into the elevator, Harley presses rapidly on the ‘Level 3’ button. Wishing she could just go down to the basement without Joker’s file, Harley would cut out a lot of wasted time, but she needs to at least appear to be taking notes if Strange decides to pay a visit.

Entering her office, she drops her bag and hurriedly sifts through it, taking out her notebook and phone. After dropping her phone in her coat pocket, she grabs Joker’s file off her desk and gathers it together with her notebook in one arm and balances the remaining coffees in her other hand before leaving. Running back to the elevator, she hops in and rides it down to the basement. Harley irritably watches the different levels light up as she descends. The trip couldn’t feel any slower if it tried. When the doors open, Harley hurries to the guard station and the amused faces of Carter and Boles greet her.

“Relax, Doctor,” Frank Boles grins, “we only just got him settled. He’s not been in there long.”

“Thanks,” Harley sighs, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ears. She didn’t bother to tie it up today so it hangs in soft waves around her face. “Here I got you these.” She slides them a cup each over the counter, through the small gap of the mesh metal screen.

The smile Frank gives her can only be described as uncomfortably lewd. _It’s only a fucking coffee, dude._ “Thanks, Harleen.”

Carter hums his thanks too whilst taking a sip.

“You’re welcome. Well, I’d better go,” Harley says, subtly adjusting her grip on the last two cups while they’re engrossed. “I’ll call if I need anything.”

A genuine and eager smile lifts her lips as she turns her back to them and heads down the corridor. Finding it hard to control her simmering excitement, Harley wastes no time hesitating and opens the interview room door.

Joker’s restrained once again in his straitjacket and chained to his chair, but it isn’t that which causes her stomach to drop and her good mood to vanish. He’s slouched over the table, his face pressed against the cool metal, jaw slack and eyes closed. Harley drops the load in her arms on the table almost spilling the coffees down she rushes over to him.

“Joker!” Despite a voice telling her in the back of her mind that he might just be playing with her again, that this could be a trap, Harley crouches down next to him and rests a hand on his shoulder. She’s close. _Too close_, her instincts warn, but hell if she’s not going to check he’s alright. “Joker!”

His eyes flutter open and although he doesn’t groan, by the way his face twists she can tell he’s in pain. “Harley?” his voice strains.

Dark brown-charcoal eyes that she’s been getting used to glinting at her with deeply hidden thoughts are glazed over and can barely focus on her. Harley’s grip tightens on his shoulder and she can feel his body trembling under her touch. They’re violent for her to be able to feel it through the thick padding of his straitjacket.

Taking her hand that she was resting on the table, she pushes back his hair and presses her palm against his forehead. Harley’s eyes widen. He’s not playing with her. He’s burning up. Joker leans into her palm with a quiet sigh.

Stifling her surprise at the vulnerable gesture, Harley curses under her breath. Ripping her glasses off her face, she jumps to her feet and storms to the door. Opening it, she leans out. “Boles! Carter! Get down here!”

Two sets of feet come pounding down the hall. Harley fixes them with ferocious glares as they skid to a stop in front of her.

“You,” she points to Carter, “get him some painkillers and some water.” Carter simply looks at her, his mouth hanging open. “Now!” He jolts into action and runs back off down the hall. Frank’s eyes widen as Harley turns to him next. “You, get in here and take off his chains and jacket.” She pulls Frank in by the straps of his dark blue stab-proof vest and pushes him towards Joker.

Stumbling, he whirls around and splutters at her, “Dr Quinzel, I-”

“I’m not playing fucking games with you, Frank,” Harley snarls and Frank staggers back away from her. “Help me take off his restraints or I’ll save Frost the trouble and kill you myself.”

Frank’s mouth drops open and with trembling hands he scurries over to Joker and unlocks the chain around him before helping her undo the belts on his jacket. Harley waits impatiently as Frank eases him out of it.

“What happened to him?” she demands.

Joker laughs hoarsely and Harley’s eyes flash down to him. “That’s funny, Doc. Most people ask what’s _wrong_ with me,” he slurs through a lopsided grin.

“Well he’s been in for a physical exam earlier this morning and he’s h-had his treatment session about half an hour ago,” Frank answers, stuttering nervously.

Harley's eyebrows crease in concern as she studies Joker, her eyes never leaving him as Frank talks. Joker's eyes slide shut and his head drops forward and sways. Alarmed, she crouches down beside him again before turning back to Frank. “Physical exam? You must’ve escorted him there, right? What did they do? Did they sedate him for it?” Frank nods rapidly. “And what treatment?” Harley thinks back to her first session with Joker, where Strange mentioned his treatment. “Electroconvulsive Therapy?” she answers her own question and Frank nods again. “Fucking_ hell_.” _Are they _trying _to kill him? Maybe she should just get him to the infirmary. Is he even allowed up there?_

“What do you want me to do with...” Frank gestures to the chains and straitjacket in his arms.

Harley growls, standing. Marching around Joker she shoves Frank against the wall. “You’re going to do everything I say. You’re going to thread a long chain through that metal loop on the table and connect it to his handcuffs. When Carter gets back, you’re gonna tell him you’re also concerned for Joker's health, like you should fucking be, so you agree with me that he shouldn’t be fully restricted. You’ll tell him that he’s not a threat and then you’re going to leave us alone while you get a medic to come down here to check him.” Harley leans in closer and Franks eyes dart between hers, flickering wildly. He’s no doubt physically stronger than her so he could push her away if he wanted to, but he must feel as well as see how serious she is, doing nothing to hide the raging fury radiating from her.

“For some reason Joker trusts you. _I_ have my reservations,” Harley bites out. “You let anything like this happen to him again and it won’t just be Frost tossing pieces of your corpse off the docks.” Harley notes the bob of his throat as Frank swallows with difficulty. “So, you’re gonna contact Frost and tell him you’ll help us get Joker out of here or,” Harley thrusts a hand down and grips tightly at his manhood through his trousers. Frank yelps. “I’ll rip off your balls right now and shove them down your throat, you got that?” Frank nods hastily and a bead of sweat drips down his forehead. “Good,” she lets go and Frank slumps against the wall.

Harley steps back and points demandingly towards the table. Joker’s eyes are open when she turns around and although there’s still a slight glassiness there, he’s looking more aware. Harley watches him with poorly concealed worry, while he watches her with an ambiguous tilt to his lips.

Frank’s hands are shaking badly now as he handcuffs Joker to a long chain when Carter bursts through the door. He looks shocked to see Joker out of his straitjacket but wisely says nothing as he mindlessly hands over a plastic cup of water and two different strips of pills to Harley. As Harley approaches Joker, Franks scoots out the way, refusing to meet Harley’s eyes and almost runs out of the room in his haste, pushing Carter out with him along the way.

Harley suddenly feels nervous as she stands next to Joker, but it’s merely a minor inconvenience when she feels so deeply concerned. She’s honestly worried about him. “Here,” she gently motions the cup towards him, “take it.”

Jokers hands are cuffed together so he can’t separate them more than a couple of inches, but he can move his arms around freely. Harley frowns, noticing that the tremors are affecting his hands too. “Do you want me to…?”

Without a word, Joker reaches over and takes the cup from her with both hands. He keeps his eyes locked on her as he takes a sip. Harley drops her gaze to the strips in her hands and reads the print on both before popping out two pills from each strip. “Take these too. It should help with the inflammation and pain.”

Joker’s face is tightly controlled, refraining from showing any signs of weakness. Harley feels like scowling. He must still be in pain and there’s no need to pretend otherwise. _It’s not a big deal. _

"Look, if you don't take these I'll just go and find some morphine or something and stab you with it, so what's it going to be?" Harley snaps.

Joker huffs but the humour doesn't linger. His eyes narrow and he’s clearly assessing her. The weight of his stare leaves her feeling suddenly uneasy and she can’t pinpoint why.

As Joker’s mouth abruptly falls open and remains open, Harley feels a pang if alarm and she would’ve guessed he’d just passed out if not for his eyes still boring into hers. He’s waiting, almost expectantly, almost as if- _Oh_. 

Hesitantly, so he has time to correct her if she’s guessed wrong, _please say she has, it's not too late to get the morphine,_ she picks up one of the pills and moves closer. Joker doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Harley holds her breath as her fingertips brush his tongue as she places the first pill in his mouth all he does is stare. Once she drops it, she snatches her hand back like it’s been burnt. Joker closes his mouth and cracks a lazy smile at her. Harley tries to calm the frantic pounding of her heart while he washes the pill down.

_He could have bitten her finger off. _

“I hope you don’t think I’m going to do that for the last three too,” Harley grumbles, trying to calm her nerves. Weirdly though, it’s hard to remain irritable when his amusement rubs off on her so easily as his smirk stays plastered on his face.

Joker opens his mouth again and waits. _Really?_ Harley rolls her eyes. _She really is fucking insane. _Pursing her lips, she accepts his challenge and places the next one on his tongue. But, before she can remove her hand, he flicks his tongue across the tip of her finger, lathering it in a quick swipe. Harley’s smirk evaporates.

A deep laugh rumbles in his chest as Harley freezes. His dark eyes gleam at her as he takes another drink. Underneath his enjoyment from making her lose her composure, Harley finds a flash something else there. Something intense, wanting, dark... something she can't pin a name on other than hunger. The sensation of waves carrying a smoldering heat lick over Harley. She feels her heart rate quicken again, but this time it's not because she's nervous.

Harley won’t allow herself to lose to him.

Gleeful dark eyes lose their humor and narrow at her reappearing smirk. Harley saunters closer to him and lifts his chin up with the knuckle of her finger and presses her thumb down on his lower lip, forcing him to open his mouth. Her long fingernail digs lightly into the plump flesh below. _It's soft._ Joker sits rigidly, struggling to keep his breathing even as Harley leans even closer.

Joker’s eyes appear a dark liquid amber in color the closer she gets. _They look like a molten dark metal, like burning copper, _Harley thinks,_ they're mesmerising with all the differnent flecks captured inside._ Harley closes her eyes for a brief second. _Stop getting distracted_. She opens her eyes to see that Joker's pupils have dilated, making the unique coloured ring smaller. It had never crossed Harley’s mind to imagine what it would be like to have fun with Joker _this_ way, but now she's started it's worryingly difficult not to get lost in her game. Harley wonders if he feels the same sick thrill of emotion running through him as she does. Her thumb caresses the his skin of his lips like it has a mind of its own. Harley realises that this goes beyond the realms of simply rising to his bait, but she can’t deny the unpredictable excitement of touching him intimately like this. She doubts he expected her to retaliate like this. It makes his unrestrained reaction all the more sweeter.

Harley looks up to see heavy eyes burning into hers, the confusion and pain clouding them earlier has been completely destroyed by this dark intensity that pierces through to her now. An unexpected tightening sensation twists low in Harley’s gut and her taunting smirk withers slightly. _Shit. _

Swiftly bringing up her other hand she unceremoniously pushes the last two pills into his mouth and knocks his mouth shut with the finger under his jaw and takes a large step back. Joker tracks her movement with lidded eyes, but it still does nothing to dim the strength of his impossibly darkening gaze.

His tongue darts out to swipe across his bottom lip.

It should feel like a triumphant victory, but Harley’s left with the hairs raised on her arms and an unwelcome, needy ache between her thighs. Not only did she not expect Joker to react so... uninhibited like that, but she also didn’t expect to enjoy it as much as she did._ She was supposed to show him up. Talk about backfire._ It’s an unsettling discovery. Harley quickly tries to smother the evidence of her embarrassment before the heat has a chance to blossom in her cheeks.

Forcing a smirk, Harley makes herself look more confident than she feels. “Drink up,” she winks.

Harley expects Joker to now close off again like he usually does, possibly feeling chagrined at losing control like that, but the corner of his mouth twitches noticeably. He raises his plastic cup and although he doesn’t tip it towards her to acknowledge her 'win', Harley gets a sense that he’s not angry with her, in fact he seems the contrary.

Harley turns away and moves around the table, taking a moment to compose herself, before sitting in the seat opposite. She presses her legs tight together and tries not to shift around too much. Harley's wholly relieved that Joker can't see her fidgeting under the table. 

Challenging Joker is fun but she probably shouldn’t do anything like that again. Jon would’ve bitten her head off if he saw that. _Harley, you could've been hurt! Irresponsible. Dangerous._ _Idiotic_. There’s just something about Joker though. Maybe she is just trying to prove her worth to him like he said, but it feels so much more than that. Like, she feels _eager_ to rise to the challenges he sets, ready and willing to dance with him in a minefield of uncertainties. Harley can’t remember the last time she felt so enraptured. So _alive_.

Settling down, Harley notices the coffees. “Oh yeah, here you go.” A perfect distraction. She pulls the last two cups out of the cardboard cupholder and pushes one across the table to him. Joker's eyes widen and she can’t help but snort. “It’s just coffee I’m afraid. No knife or anything hidden away inside. Though that’s not a bad idea actually,” she muses.

Joker discards his small empty cup on the table and leans forward to pick up the coffee. His chains rattle against the metal of the table. Popping the plastic lid off, he peers inside. Harley can’t tell what he’s thinking, but when he leans down to sniff it cautiously a guess springs to mind.

“If I wanted to kill you I wouldn't pick poison.” Harley rolls her eyes as she takes a sip of her own cup. “Believe it or not, the idea is to get us both out of here... alive.”

Joker takes a sip and Harley tries not to watch his reaction too closely. He doesn’t thank her for the drink, not that she expected him too. Harley hesitated before getting him one too because she knew it might weird him out, given his reaction yesterday to her suggestions. She wants to argue that she only got the coffees to bribe the front desk and Carter, but she wasn't lying when she said that she wanted to do something nice for Joker. Not to bribe him as well, _she doubts bribes __even __work on him,_ but Harley thought that if it was her stuck in here she’d appreciate a decent coffee. Joker definitely deserves it after the shit morning he’s had.

Joker’s eyes snap open after slipping shut momentarily. “And here I thought I was special,” Joker laments mockingly, pointing at the six-spaced cup holder, his face unreadable. “Who else did you get coffees for?”

_Why? Jealous?_ “Just the guys at reception and Frank and Carter. Why?” she teases, “Does the Joker not like to share?”

“I’ve never been good at sharing my toys."

Harley hums, taking a pen out of her pocket and flipping open her notebook. “Should I write that down? Lack of empathy? Possible superiority complex?” Harley smirks.

Joker laughs, the hoarse, raspy quality it previously possessed has all but disappeared. A brightness enters his eyes. “Doctor, you wound me.”

“Do you wanna know what your psychiatrists have written about you?” Harley asks with a barely withheld snort as she sits up straighter. “It’s all here.” Joker leans forward as Harley opens his file and rifles through the loose pages. “Here we go. Patient, known as Joker, is a sociopath,” she lifts her head and tosses a raised eyebrow and a considering look at him. Joker smirks. “He is emotionally shallow, never showing any signs of remorse for his previous criminal behaviour and unable to display any empathy. Oof,” Harley whistles, “that’s cold. You wanna know who thought that?”

“Doctor Phillips.”

Harley cocks her head. “Yeah… how’d you guess?”

“I didn’t. Of course _she’d_ write that.” Joker’s smacks his lips together and places the coffee on the table to motion with his hands, well as much as he can in handcuffs. “One day… one day she comes in with this brilliant idea. Thinks that she’s going to get me to _open up_ by telling me something personal about herself, convinced that I’ll return the favour. So, she tells me,” he leans forward a little more, “she tells me how her kid died.” Harley blinks. Joker's tone isn't cold but it is impersonal. It's strange. Harley feels like she shouldn't be listening to this but with the animated way he's talking has her captivated. “Horrible, _horrible_ tragedy. She had tears in her eyes. Her poor little boy, crushed to death by an unsteady gravestone, real tragedy,” Joker pauses and a wide smile splits his lips, pulling at his scars either side. “She stormed out when I laughed. I dunno how she couldn’t see the funny side.”

Harley quirks an eyebrow. Joker’s last few words were spoken in a way that dares Harley to outright disagree with him. It feels like another test. She knows from all the news and reports on him that he has questionable ethics, but the people that know Harley could argue the same about her. Joker doesn’t know anything about her, doesn't know the shit she's done. He probably expects her to preach to him about morals, not finding out that her silent opinion actually agrees with him. Like that story is pretty fucked up it almost seems made up. Harley can see the irony in it. _Talk about one foot in the grave._

“Why did she let her kid play in a graveyard?”

Joker snorts and leans back against his chair. “That’s the real kicker. She made the whole thing up.”

Harley balks. “What, really? She did?” Joker nods indifferently.

_That that’s worse than Joker’s response of laughing. A whole lot worse._ Sure Harley admits to manipulation through coffee but that’s just to warm the staff up to her. But crafting a dark story to emotionally manipulate and more or less coerce someone to get them to open up through some reverse psychology, projection bullshit is outrageously unethical. _That_ is being emotionally shallow. What a fucking hypocrite that doctor is.

Harley tuts, frowning deeply and looks back down to the report and promptly scoffs. “Your next psychiatrist goes on to completely refute her judgement. A diagnosis of sociopathy does not seem a fitting one considering that sociopaths are capable of loyalty and demonstrate a sense of morality and conscience," Harley reads aloud. "Joker understands morals he simply chooses to ignore them or outright reject them. Huh....” _That sounds applicable to her._

“Do you have strong morals, Harley?” Joker asks, his head tilting to one side and looking almost animalistic in nature. He smiles ambiguously, a luring trap if she ever saw one.

Joker’s sharp and there’s an aspect of careful calculation in his intelligence. He’s perceptive, extremely so, more than these hacks ever gave him credit for. Even if she thinks she could get away with lying to him, Harley doesn’t see the point. She doesn’t have a reason to lie to him.

Harley shrugs. “Not really. I mean someone’s told me that I often do the wrong things for the right reasons,” she offers, chuckling, thinking about Jon, “but I don’t believe in God or anything. I mean I used to think-” Harley stalls. The last time she opened up to someone like this they took the information she gave them and tossed it around for people to gossip about. _‘__You can definitely tell she’s got some mad issues.’_ Her eyes narrow on Joker’s fixedly curious expression.

_Joker is incredibly dangerous._ Only up until until now though does she realise how great the threat extends. He’s spontaneous and ruthless in his violence, she knew that, but this? He’s cunning in his manipulations, it shows a patience and planning that she didn’t think he had. These haven't been tests. Well, not tests in the sense of passing and failing in his regard, but rather he's been digging for information, _weaknesses_. If Harley weren't so angry with herself, she’d be impressed. He didn’t even have to slip past her walls, she practically invited him inside.

_But would he be like all the others?_ Would he exploit her like this? What does he gain from knowing the deep workings of her mind? Harley's not been bothered by the opinions of others for a long time and hell, if anyone could relate to her it would be him, surely? He's the one who opened her eyes with his apparent absurdist and nihilistic perspectives. Would he use this against her? Could he? _Pot meet kettle._

Harley puts up her guard. “Why do you want to know?”

“Why am I not allowed to ask?” Joker retorts evenly. Nothing in his face shows as tactical. He only watches her with a rapt sense of curiosity but, like she’s seen, he’s perfected his poker face so any agenda could be lurking underneath.

_Does it really matter what he thinks of her? Does she really care? _It comes as a sharp surprise to Harley when she realises that she does care, even if only a little bit. She doesn’t need his approval, fucking hell she’s never needed anyone’s, but for some reason, she doesn't want Joker to think negatively of her. She want's to make a good impression. Harley wants to argue that she's only feeling like this because it’ll purely benefit her mission, nothing more. But if that’s the case then, she’s got no reason to care so much about his personal opinion of her. It shouldn’t matter whether he likes or dislikes her, it only matters that they can work together.

Making up her mind, Harley decides to just unload. If Joker ridicules her for this and it turns out he doesn’t like who she really is then…. Well, he can get fucked like everyone else. She doesn’t need anything from him. _Apart from his money._

Harley leans back in her chair and folds her arms across her chest. Collecting herself together and stamping down unfeelingly on her reluctance, she closes off her emotions from showing as best as she can. “I used to think that there was a reason for the way things were, but then someone showed me that it doesn’t matter. None of it. I can choose to act in my own self-interest while everyone would rather keep their self-centred thoughts locked up in the back of their minds, their fear of society's judgement controlling them. Does that make me selfish? Or does it just mean that everyone else is enslaved?” Harley tuts, the corner of lip curling in a small snarl, “If we were all held accountable for our thoughts rather than our actions, no one would be innocent.”

Joker tilts his head slightly, appearing to mull over her words with an idle sort of interest. “No matter how good you are, people will always judge you according to their mood and needs,” he murmurs. “You're young to know that.” Joker's eyes narrow as they trace over every line and curve of Harley's face.

Harley bristles. “What the fuck's that supposed to mean?” 

Joker hums thoughtfully. “Sounds like someone’s had a rough childhood,” Joker guesses, grinning sharply and leaning forward in his seat.

Harley barks a bitter laugh and flashes him a sharp smirk. “Rougher than yours I’ll bet,” she challenges.

“Ooh, I sense daddy issues.”

Harley shrugs and fixes Joker with an unruffled stare. “He beat me.”

Joker's eyes gleam. “Mine made me smile,” he grins widely, drawing Harley’s attention back to his raised scars.

“My mum joined in.”

Joker gasps. The sound is high pitched and drawn out. “You had a mother?” he whispers in mock awe.

Harley snorts, a shadow of a smile teasing at her lips. She doesn't know why but her anger's fading. “Ever had fifty lashes across your back with a belt?”

“What else is a belt used for?” he drawls. “Ever had over a hundred volts pass through your brain?” Joker wets his lips again.

Harley lifts her cup to her lips and tosses him a coy smirk over the rim. “Sounds better than this coffee.”

Joker tips back his head and laughs. Harley can’t help but chuckle lightly along.

Harley never thought that she’d have the patience to dance around in power struggles. They always seemed like more effort than the result was worth. Why would you bother to fight with someone with barbed words when you could just stick a gun in their mouth to shut them up? Harley never understood that, but then again she’s not known for keeping a tight leash on her temper. Which is why she finds herself shocked at herself now. Verballing sparring with Joker is refreshing – intoxicating even. It feels almost effortless. She realises that it’s probably not best to see how far she can push Joker before it crosses a line, but when has she ever really listened to reason. Her reason's at home probably nursing a wicked hangover. 

“Is this a new psychology technique, Doctor?” Joker’s eyes narrow with a predatory glint. “Do you like playing with and manipulating others?”

“It’s interesting that you’d suggest that,” Harley smiles thinly, running her eyes over his face as his expression closes off, trying to read him despite his efforts. “Is it natural for you to assume that everyone’s out to manipulate you. Or do you just enjoy the irony?”

A hardness settles over his eyes. It doesn't seem cold, just serious. _That's weird._ “I’ve never manipulated you.”

Harley clicks her teeth together in a burst of irritation. “If you don’t lie to me,” she growls, “I won’t lie to you.”

Harley will reluctantly take the hit of Joker’s needling questions and his attempts at find out her weaknesses on the chin. He's a master in trickery, she should've expected something like this. _It's probably second nature to him, maybe he doesn't even know he's doing it?_ Either way that doesn't mean she won't sit there and take it next time he tries to bring up tough memories for her. He'll soon learn that she gives as good as she gets. Harley likes the idea of a challenge. She's only wary of losing. Her poker face is no where near as strong as his. Harley can’t be left on the back foot and left in the dark. Not again. Underhanded manipulations just aren’t Harley’s thing so if Joker wants to keep playing that kind of game then she’s out. It’s one thing to skate together, dancing intimately while all the while aware that their fingers twitch behind their backs as they firmly grasp their veiled knives, but with one misplaced step one will show their blade first and break the fragile ice beneath them. One won't go down without the other. They'll both drown.

Joker doesn’t respond for some time, though his eyes never leave her face. Harley glances away under the weight of his carefully hidden thoughts.

“Thanks.”

Harley’s eyes snap back up. Joker spoke so softly she dares to wonder if she simply misheard. She doubts she hides her shock well enough before she connects her eyes with his again. _He's full of surprises. _Joker holds the coffee cup in both of his hands once more, though his grip seems tighter judging by his whitening knuckles. His record wouldn't suggest that he's one for offering anything in the way of thanks or meaningful apologies. Despite his gentle tone though his face reveals no kindness. Maybe she did just imagine it? Seeing at this point she's not sure what he's thanking her for.

Harley’s lips lift in a small smile and she inclines her head, bringing up her own coffee. She understands that while Joker doesn’t apologise, not to her, not to anyone, she appreciates his effort to mend the air between them nonetheless. Even if it does leave a slight awkwardness to hover over them.

A bubbling giddiness brews in Harley’s stomach, as a plan forms to brush off the building tension.

“Knock, knock.” Joker raises an unbelieving and unamused eyebrow at her. Harley smile simply grows wider as she waits. "Knock, knock."

“Who’s there?” Joker rolls his eyes, though the signs of a smirk tug at his lips.

“Interrupting doctor.”

“Interrup-”

“You’ve got cancer.”

Harley bites her lip and fails to contain her snort at his stunned expression. Joker bows his head and Harley listens intently as he begins to quietly snicker. The noise makes her feel like a weight's been lifted from her and she feels a real smile light up her face. Steadily, his chuckles morph into loud cackling laughs. Harley’s control wanes too and peals of laughter break past her lips. The absurdity of their laughter bounces off the walls of the small room.

♦ • ♥ • ♦

“Harleen!”

Harley looks up in surprise, barely concealing her displeasure at the sudden and rude entry to her office and most importantly the man that’s the cause of it.

_Strange_.

“Director Strange,” Harley greets, strained and somewhat unenthusiastically, “what can I do for you?”

Dr Strange pulls the door closed behind him before he makes her way over. Harley leans back in her chair as he lumbers closer.

“I wanted to see what progress you were making with Joker,” he explains, rounding the desk to stand beside her chair. He peers down at her computer screen.

Struggling not to gag on his excessive use of cologne, Harley leans away from him trying not to make it too obvious that she’s recoiling in disgust.

“You’ve managed to confirm his nationality and find out his age? Brilliant. Great work, Harleen. What else?” He looms closer, blocking a large portion of the screen from her view .

Taking a deep breath through her mouth, Harley wipes her mind of any scathing retorts and forces herself to smile sweetly. “Thank you, Director. I think you were right, perhaps a new, friendly face was all it took to get him to open up a little. I don’t think he has the,” she pretends to search for the right words, “best relationships with some of the psychiatrists here.” _Not naming any _particular _names_.

Dr Strange chuckles gruffly and rests a hand on her shoulder. Harley’s lips twist downwards. “That sounds about right, Dr Quinzel. He hates us,” Strange says, weirdly boasting. “I’m his arch-enemy.”

Harley _very_ much doubts that but laughs along amicably.

“Director?” Harley bats her eyelashes innocently, laying it on thick, but still not as thick as the pungent musk of his cologne. _Christ, it’s making her eyes water._

“Yes, Harleen?”

“I was wondering if I could hold my sessions with Joker in one of the ground floor rooms above the max-wing?” Harley rushes to explain as his dark bushy eyebrows immediately begin to furrow. “I think it would benefit him to see some sunlight. It’s like solitary confinement down there. Do you ever let him out in the yard?” Harley admonishes lightly, her tone of voice softened with concern.

“Ah, no. Well, you see...” Strange stumbles along with his words. It’s painful yet amusing to listen to. “He’s very volatile with the staff. We can’t trust him.”

“I believe that if he’s given a little more freedom, nothing much,” she adds before he can interrupt, “perhaps just an hour or two outside once a week. Allow him to get some fresh air. It will make him want to reward us in turn. It’s a simple reciprocity technique.” _You let that bitch Doctor try it on him before._

Strange hums and strokes his chin strap beard. “Okay,” he finally declares and Harley tries hard to suppress the desire to grin like a Cheshire cat. “Email me your list of requests and I’ll look them over. But,” Strange pins her with a stern look, his dark eyes peering at her through his thin wire glasses, “I want a detailed report on my desk before the end of next week,” he instructs severely.

Harley grits her teeth behind her closed smile. “Of course, thank you, Director.” Strange runs his eyes over her face. It’s decidedly creepy. “If there’s nothing else….” _In other words, can you fuck off now? I'm trying to look busy._

“No, no.” Strange removes his hand from her shoulder. “That’s all. Have a good weekend, Harleen. I’ll see you back in here on Monday.”

Harley sneers at his back as he strides towards the door, reigning it back in by the time he turns around. “You too, Doctor Strange.”

“Call me Hugo,” Strange offers, pausing at the door. The crooked smile he offers her sends an uncomfortable shiver down her spine.

“Hugo,” Harley parrots, nodding stiffly.

He throws her one last look over his shoulder before he leaves, closing the door behind him. With a loud groan Harley falls forward and ungracefully plants her face on the keyboard. _Fucking hell. _Jon owes her. _He owes her big time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chappie. It's the longest one I've written so far so hopefully it makes up for the long wait. Life's a bit hectic at the moment so I'm not sure when the next chapter will be out, but it shouldn't take me more than two weeks. I apologise in advance. Kudos to you all ♥ - B_L


	13. Chapter 13

_Swoosh. Thud._ “I’m bored.”

_Swoosh. Thud._

_Swoosh. Thud._ “Bored!”

A heavy sigh from the other side of the room cuts in, gaining Harley’s attention. Her grip tightens around the handle of her knife as she freezes her next throw.Sitting up, she peers over the back of the couch to grin at the culprit, Jon.

He’s sat at the kitchen island, like he has been for the past few hours, working away on his toxin. _Boring_. But he says he’s so close this time to having his formula work with the same, if not better effectiveness, in a gas state rather than a liquid. His failures at the beginning of the year, trying to change the solution, have frustrated the hell out of him, but he hasn’t given up and he’s more determined than ever right now.

Beakers, flasks and cylinders filled with different coloured liquids, varying from clear to green to amber, scatter the surface and while some sit by idly, waiting to be used, some are hooked up to a complex looking apparatus that dominates the countertop, complete with a stand, Bunsen burner, tripod, tubes, burettes and the like.

Jon twists one of the burettes, stopping the flow of whatever chemical he has in there from dripping down into the flask below and leans back. Taking off his safety goggles and pulling down his face mask reveals the furrowing of his brows as well as the grim and tightly set frown of his mouth.

“Harley,” he begins, pinning her with a scowl, his voice tightly controlled, “do you have to do that?”

“Do what?” _Swoosh. Thud._

Jon’s eye twitches. “That.”

Harley snickers as Jon closes his eyes and runs a hand over his face, muttering unintelligibly under his breath. Flopping back down on the couch, Harley tilts her head and admires her aim. Above the other arm rest, on the wall opposite, several knives are buried in the plaster, right over where she spray painted a smiley face in fluorescent pink. One of the knives went through the cross of an eye. Dropping her arm, her fingers lightly graze over the small remaining pile of knives resting on the floor beside the couch.

“I always knew you had a crush on Joker, but I didn’t think you’d pine after him after-” Jon’s increasingly loud mutterings are cut short as a knife sails over his head and thuds into one of the kitchen cupboards. It wobbles for a moment before stilling inside the wood. Jon looks up from filling a pipette with a raised eyebrow.

“I am _not_,” Harley growls, sitting up once again and glaring, “pining.”

Jon hums. “Of course not.”

Heat flushes Harley’s face, but she refuses to feel anything other than irritated. “I don’t have a crush on Joker,” she snaps. “I’m just bored.”

“So you keep mentioning.”

Harley jumps to her feet and marches over to snatch her jacket off the stair banisters. “Ugh. I’m going out.”

Jon doesn’t look up as he settles his goggles and mask back in place. “Tell Joker I said hi.”

“Fuck off!”

♦ • ♥ • ♦

Harley does miss Joker.

Her sigh comes out more as more of a groan but it’s lost on the wind as she revs her bike and speeds up, narrowly making it through a turning red light. A car horn blares to her right. She flips it off.

Harley can deny it all she wants to Jon, but not to herself. It’s frustrating and the longing feeling is really starting to piss her off. She doesn’t know why she felt a rush of embarrassment when Jon said that, that she has a ‘thing’ for Joker. Jon knows she thinks of Joker as her idol _\- _with the way she_ ‘doesn’t shut up about him and how everything he says and does is absolutely mind-blowing’ _– Jon’s words not hers. _Patronising asshole._ He must be messing with her again. Taking the piss out of her ‘star-stuck hero worship.’

_Aaaand also possibly payback for her being such an irritating little shit._

So, sure Harley misses Joker, misses their attempts at conversations, but she doesn’t _fancy_ Joker. But as soon as she tries to firmly cement that thought she recalls the way he looked at her yesterday morning.

That dark heavy look in his eyes, wondering what the hell was going on in his head and how electrifying it felt to be that close to him, _dangerously close,_ close enough to feel the surprising swipe of his tongue across her fingers.

_Fuck._

Harley grits her teeth and clenches her thighs tighter around her bike. _Christ, girl. _She needs to get laid, that’s all this is. Fair enough it’s been a few months (the better part of a year almost) but the memory of one heated look shouldn’t be able make her this desperate and aching with need. All she needs is some quality TLC and this feeling towards Joker will disappear.

Her last fuck is barely memorable that’s how bad it was. It’s no wonder she’s so horny. _The vibrations from the purring of her bike aren’t exactly helping matters either._ Her last tryst was some rich drunken idiot who offered to take her back to his. Turns out the best part of that night was cleaning out an entire drawer filled with Rolex watches and sterling silver cufflinks. She got about forty grand from that haul but unfortunately still left feeling majorly unsatisfied.

_Hm, sounds like tonight’s the night to switch out her copper bullets to play with the silicone ones she keeps in her bed-side table instead._

Harley slows down as she turns into a quiet back road. It would be deserted if not for a couple of guys hanging around the outside of a building, smoking. They eye her with equal looks of recognition and suspicion as she pulls up to the curb in front of them.

Harley kicks out the stand on her bike and slides off. “Hi guys, Frost home?” she greets with a flirty smile.

The slightly leaner, taller one takes a step away, unblocking the door and nods his head. The other guy also shuffles out of the way to allow her through but his wide eyes haven’t drifted from Harley’s bike and she can’t blame him. Her baby is a beaut’ with her matte black finish and sleek sporty build. Harley got her in a trade from one of her regular black-market pawn dealers. _Fuck you shitty night but thank you Rolex._

“Keep an eye on her for me would ya?” Harley asks sweetly in passing as she tugs open the heavy metal door and slips inside.

Making her way down the narrow flight of stairs, she opens the door at the bottom and steps out into the familiar basement, appearing just beside the kitchen.

There are six doors in total dotted about the large room and Harley knows where at least four of them lead. The back entrance she just came through which Frost told her about by text last night. The floating staircase in the middle of the room takes her to the club and the door behind the bottom of that staircase is a bathroom. There are three doors in the living area, behind one is the office/meeting room, but what’s behind the other two are mysteries to her.

“Frosty?” No one’s sitting around and playing poker this time. No one’s even in the kitchen. Harley walks over to the office door and knocks. “Frost? You in there?” She tests the handle and finds it unlocked.

Pulling open the door, she finds Frost leaning on a filing cabinet at the far end of the room. With one hand he’s pinching the bridge of his nose, in the other he’s holding a phone up to his ear. He turns at the sound of her entrance and the scowl on his face smooths out slightly when he sees her. He doesn’t say anything to her but rather waves a hand in her direction and holds up one finger.

“Okay,” Harley whispers loudly and ducks back out, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

Pursing her lips, Harley heads over to the couches to wait, but pivots on a whim and heads to the mystery solid steel door that’s a few paces over from the office. She tests the handle. It’s open too. _Okay so Frost is getting seriously lax with security or everyone’s too loyal (more like scared shitless of Joker) to steal from him-oh-holy mother of God. _Harley’s hand turns limp and falls off the handle as her wide eyes take in the contents of the room.

Handguns. Shotguns. Rifles. AK’s. Armor vests. Scopes. Grenades. _Is that a fucking bazooka?! _Harley snaps her mouth shut with an audible click and feels a wide grin slowly starting to stretch across her lips as her eyes rake over the staggering arsenal of weapons. Guns of all varieties line the walls of the room which surrounds a long table in the middle of the room, on top of which many bulky cases sit upon. Wooden crates are also stacked up near the door looking like a new delivery ready to be pried open and sorted out. Harley’s never seen anything like it. _Oh, Jonny boy. You’ve been holding out on me._

Harley’s sure Joker won’t mind, she thinks over dismissively as she darts over to the table and picks a case at random to open.

Eyes lighting up, she plucks a slender, cylindrical grenade out of its black Styrofoam case and tests its weight in her palm. Anything that helps her, helps him, right?

_Right_.

She picks up another and slips both into the pockets of her jacket. Besides, Joker probably won’t even notice they’re missing. Harley could fill her boots and it still wouldn’t make a dent in this collection. _And what he doesn’t know, won’t hurt him… or her, more realistically speaking._

Closing the case, Harley’s twitching fingers lightly graze over several more. “Eeeny, meeny, miney-”

“What are you doing in here?” a loud, familiar gruff voice booms, “How’d you get in?”

Harley spins around and plasters and innocent smile on her face. “Not my fault you left the door open, Jonny.”

Frost stands in the doorway, arms crossed over his large built chest, looking like a pissed off schoolteacher who’s caught her skipping class to smoke behind the bike shed or something. Harley snickers under her breath and goes over to him with a spring in her step, not even giving him the satisfaction of looking guilty at being caught. His glare sours.

“So, who was that on the phone?” Harley asks as Frost herds her out the room and pouts when he pulls the door shut behind her with a thud. He reaches up next to the door to a panel Harley hadn’t noticed before and types in a code on the number pad which seems to reset the locking system. Unfortunately his towering frame shields her view from the combination he enters too. _Pft_. _Kill joy._

“None of your business.”

“Touchy, touchy,” Harley tuts playfully. “Was it Frank? If it was him that does kinda make it my business y’know.”

“No, it wasn’t Boles.” Jonny turns around. “Though he has called and agreed to come here Monday night.”

“What? That’s like two days from now! Can’t he come any sooner? And why didn’t you tell me you’ve talked to him?” Harley scowls.

Jonny sighs and walks around Harley. “Because that’s all we discussed - a time to meet.”

“Couldn’t he have talked to you over the phone?” Harley follows directly behind him, hot on his tail with frustrated bewilderment as he walks into the kitchen. “Like where the emergency stairs and control panels are and shit?”

“It’s a test.”

Harley stops short. “Huh?”

“I’m still not entirely convinced we can trust him, despite Joker’s judgement. Recently we’ve had an increase in…defects with Joker being locked up as long as he has.” Jonny opens the fridge and pulls out a slim can of energy drink. “I won’t tell Boles anything over the phone until I know for certain. If he turns up it’ll mean he’s still loyal to Joker and not in someone else’s pocket.”

Harley must look confused still for he explains, “Guilty men won’t willingly turn up to an interrogation.” Jonny pops the tab on the can as he makes his way over to the sofas in the living area. “But tell me, why couldn’t _you_ have called me over the phone to ask me all this?”

“Do I need a reason to come visit you, Jonny?” Harley batters her eyelids and mindlessly drags her nails along the wall which she follows along into the lounge.

Jonny refuses to answer or pretends not to even hear her as he instead sits down and pulls his phone out to check something.

“Fine. I was bored.”

“I might be hiring you to get this job done, but I’m not your babysitter. Now get out I’ve got work to do.”

“Ooh, what kind of work? Can I help?”

“No.”

Harley pouts and comes to a stop in front of the final mystery door. She jiggles the handle but soon frowns. “Why is this door locked? Ooh, you got more toys in here?”

Jonny looks up then and his eyes widen. “Get away from there!” In shock, Harley drops her hand like it’s been burnt. “And get out!”

“Yeesh. Fine, I’m going.” Harley holds her hands up in surrender. “No need to get your panties in a twist.”

_It’s only a fucking door._ Harley heads back over to the kitchen and opens the door that will take her back up to her bike outside. _No need for him to bite her head off._ Harley slams the door shut behind her and wonders when did all her friends become so boring.

♦ • ♥ • ♦

_‘_ _Are you insane like me?_ _  
Been in pain like me?  
Bought a hundred dollar bottle of champagne like me?  
Just to pour that motherfucker down the drain like me?’_

_ \- Gasoline, Halsey_

_The next night. Sunday._

_Now this is more like it. _Harley’s never been to the diamond district before but glancing through all the designer store windows as she saunters down the street has her planning her next trip already. She stops outside one as a mannequin catches her eye.

It’s wearing a gold and black diamond patterned dress and it sparkles as its sequins reflect the overhead spotlights. Harley lovingly eyes-up the dress, knowing that to potential onlookers that she looks like a magpie, drawn in by the shininess. But without even seeing the price tag Harley knows she can’t afford it. _Not yet anyways._

One hundred and eighty grand. Harley still can’t believe it. She’s never got anything close to that from a haul before. The prospect of that incoming money is insane but it also feels a little bittersweet too, because the sooner they get Joker out of Arkham Asylum the sooner their conversations will end and as much as Harley likes to think that they’d still remain in contact on the outside she’s not naïve enough to believe that will happen.

Joker’s worked with notorious mobsters like Sal Maroni and the Chechen, but he’s left them high and dry before. Christ, word has it that he was the one who killed Gambol a couple of years back after ripping him off too. Harley has to take a reality check and think what will stop him from doing the same to her?

A bout of disappointment settles uncomfortably in Harley and she turns away from the dress, trying to shake off her souring mood. She didn’t come out tonight to feel like shit.

Harley pulls her black leather jacket tighter around her and pounds out a beat down the street in her bright red stilettos. She came out to have some fun.

Jon had to bite his tongue to warn her against going out, but when Harley explained that no one would possibly recognise her as ‘Doctor Harleen Quinzel’ when she dresses like she usually does and how desperate she was to blow off some steam, he relented. Besides, the perfect doctor wouldn’t dare wear figure-hugging black leather-looking pants with a bold red cami top with a neckline so deep that it would even make the pope blush. With her hair down and tattoos on show too she looks like a completely different woman altogether and Harley couldn’t be happier. _So feel like it._

Harley curls the corners of her mouth up in a flirtatious smile as she approaches a bouncer blocking the way into what looks and sounds like a high-end and busy club. His bored expression doesn’t change as he rakes his eyes up and down her face and body.

“No guns inside.”

Harley grins and steps closer. “And where’d you think I could hide one, handsome?” Harley sidles up to him and holds open the lapels of her jacket to reveal her form-fitting clothing.

“Bag,” he demands, holding open a hand.

Harley rolls her eyes and shoulders off her clutch bag and thrusts it at him. The tall, bald guy looks unimpressed with her attitude but takes the bag from her nonetheless. Harley taps her foot impatiently as he rifles through her bag to find nothing but her phone and a large handful of dollar bills.

“You done?”

The man says nothing as he passes her bag back to her. The corners of his lips turn down though as he runs his eyes over her once more. It’s not a pervy look, if anything he looks put off, like Harley’s stepped in dog shit or something.

“Is there gonna be a problem?” Harley snaps, crossing her arms over her chest.

Reluctantly, the guy steps aside. Harley’s lips curl up into a sneer as she walks past him and into the club. Only to then wish she’d never bothered going in in the first place.

A small orchestra play on raised platform on one end of the room and a small number of guys, all kitted out in tailored suits, waltz their dates donned in floor length dresses across the dancefloor.

Harley’s eyebrow raises as she takes in the large room, ornately decorated in blues and golds. It feels as if she’s just stepped into the 1920s with all the overwhelming art deco features, like the elaborate pillars which try to create the illusion of a divide between the booths and the dance floor. Harley can’t help but scoff when she spots different ice sculptures dotted about the room too. _Seriously, who actually uses ice sculptures nowadays?_ Unlike the mocking opulence of Joker’s _Funland, _this place looks… overpoweringly pretentious.

As Harley turns on her heel to immediately leave, she instead finds herself pausing as she catches a group at a booth, huddling close and whispering and laughing behind their hands. Normally Harley would think nothing of it. But they’re all staring at her, their eyes shining with poorly contained malice. Harley feels a tightness creeping in around her eyes.

Turning on her heel once more, Harley marches further into the room and over to the bar, much to the surprise of her spectators. It might just be in her head but as she sits down on a bar stool it sounds like the whole room quietens.

The bartender, sporting a pressed white shirt and a black bowtie, stops wiping down glasses and approaches Harley cautiously.

“Hi! I would like a bottle of your finest champagne,” Harley greets him with a wide tooth-filled smile, “please.”

“That’s a hundred dollars,” the guy states, quirking an eyebrow at her that says, ‘I highly doubt you can afford that, sweetheart.’

Harley opens her clutch and pulls out a clenched fist-full of twenty-dollar bills, most likely forty or sixty bucks over the asking price and smacks them down on the bar before flashing him an acidic smile.

The bartender flashes a quick look behind Harley to the booths before gathering up the notes. He even has the nerve to check each of them before putting them in his till. Leisurely he then takes a large golden bottle from the top shelf, which he skilfully uncorks before placing it down in front of her. He then reaches under the bar and procures a tall slim champagne glass.

“Ah, allow me,” Harley interrupts, leaning up and over the bar slightly. Picking up the bottle, she begins pouring and upon reaching halfway, Harley lifts her eyes from the glass and fixes her gaze on the bartender, still pouring.

The man’s eyes widen and he splutters as Harley overfills the glass and the champagne starts to flood the bar.

The music abruptly stops and is replaced by a chorus of guns being cocked and their chambers loaded. Harley smirks and sets the bottle down hearing the threatening clicks behind her.

“Now gentlemen, there’s no need for that.” A nasally male voice cuts through the blanket of tense silence, accompanied by a quiet click of something metal tapping on the marble floors.

The bartender steps back and whether that’s to get away from the sparkling wine spilling over his side of the bar or from the man approaching behind her Harley’s not sure.

Harley calmly swivels around on her stool to meet the stranger and comes face to face with a short plump man, dressed in a black suit complete with a tailcoat, top hat and… a fucking pimp cane. Harley bites her lip to force down the burst of laughter that threatens to burst out of her chest. Harley’s smile widens as he ambles none-too gracefully over and finds that she’s still taller than him even whilst sat down.

“Oswald Cobblepot,” he introduces, though he doesn’t raise a white gloved hand of his to shake. His sunken beady eyes drift to the side of Harley. “What a mess you’ve made and in my esteemed establishment no less.”

Harley shrugs with one shoulder. “Oops,” she drawls.

“Listen darling, if you wanted to be my entertainment for this evening all you had to do was ask,” he grins, revealing his sharply pointed and black and yellow teeth. Harley grimaces.

Harley’s not stupid, though she’s kicking herself now from not paying attention to what club, _who’s club_, she was getting into. Even though never having met this guy before, he’s a popular subject of talk in the bars and clubs she normally visits and seeing his infamous get-up and long, beak-like nose up close and personal, it’s impossible to mistake him for anyone else. _Penguin_. A crime lord of Gotham’s underworld. A man who will get you anything you want… for a price. He’s one of the big dogs that’s been causing Jonny so much grief at the moment.

“For a girl of your…” his eyes run down her face and body and linger on her legs, “stature, there’s no need to be so dramatic. Come, join me in the back and I’ll let you entertain me all you want,” his voice dips as he caresses the outside of her thigh with the bottom of his cane.

“Oh baby, you’d let me do that?” Harley leans closer, her sweet tone dripping with venom. “Then allow me to blow your mind.” Thrusting both hands into her jacket Harley whips out the two grenades she pinched from Joker’s stash.

A slew of curses cry out from Penguin’s cronies and the sounds of chairs scraping against the tiled floor erupt all around her. Harley’s eyes never leave Penguin’s even as the cocky creep hastily backs away.

“How did she get in here with those?!” he yells furiously, his sickly pale complexion turning a splotchy red.

“Tell your boys to play nice or say buh-bye to all your pretty little ice sculptures,” Harley demands, twirling one of the grenades around her fingers by the ringed-pin.

Penguin’s bodyguards gasp, watching with horror-filled eyes and raise their guns.

Penguin hisses and quickly motions them to lower their arms before turning back to Harley. “What do you want?” he growls.

“I just want my champagne,” Harley answers with an air of pretend innocence. Reaching behind her, she grabs her glass off the counter, deliberately spilling a little more as she hops off the stool. “Great. Now I can go.”

“Do you have any idea who you’re messing with?” one of Penguin’s lackey’s growls.

Harley steels her eyes and lowers her tone. “Do you?”

“Let her go,” Cobblepot instructs. He looks at Harley as she passes by, anger twisting his already misshapen features.

Harley saunters down the aisle between the booths and the dance floor, relishing in all the patrons’ eyes on her as they stay frozen in their seats or stood with their backs pressed up against the walls.

“We will meet again soon.” Penguin’s words carry over to Harley as she reaches the door. Harley pauses sipping her champagne to look over her shoulder. The seething look on his face promises a painful revenge.

Harley winks at him and she watches with glee as the brief look of momentary shock on his face curls back into a snarl. “No we won’t,” she chirps, throwing the last of the champagne, glass and all, behind her before darting out the door and onto the street.

“Hey!” the bouncer shouts after her as she takes off at a run.

Harley deftly dodges his slow reflexes to grab a hold of her arm and it turns out that she can easily outrun him, even in heels. Maniacal and triumphant laughter bursts free from chest as she taunts him whilst high-tailing it out of there.

♦ • ♥ • ♦

_‘_ _Oh, it's funny how_ _  
The warning signs can feel like they're butterflies’_

_ \- Graveyard, Halsey_

Harley’s grin doesn’t leave her the next day either. Riding the elevator up to her office in Arkham Asylum, she bites her lip, clamping down on her excitement. She can’t wait to tell Joker what happened. She was buzzing to tell Jon too, but he was fast asleep by the time she got in last night.

If Harley wasn’t so pleased with herself, she’d still feel angry over the whole event. Who the fuck do they think they are? What makes them so perfect? Harley’s dealt with strangers, hell even her family, judging and criticising her her whole life, what’s a few more? It still stings though, the feeling of never being good enough.

As much as Harley feels proud of herself, for getting this far, because let’s face it, she could’ve spiralled and _hard_, niggling doubts still creep in. Not doubts of regret though, fuck that, she loves her life now. But she knows that if it weren’t for Jon, she’d probably be dead by now. Not only because he’s physically stopped her from dying, but because there’s no way Harley could’ve come this far on her own.

Harley steps out of the elevator as it creaks to a stop and heads to her office. The turn of thought knocks her enthusiasm and she tugs her bottom lip between her teeth to gnaw on it.

The thought of suicide wasn’t far from her mind when she was growing up. The earliest memory Harley can remember is one of her silently crying in the bath, the water tinged pink, looking at her knees at the new and old bruises from gymnastics patching her skin and feeling her back still stinging from the beating her dad had given her when she’d gotten home. Harley remembers wishing for it to all go away. The pain. The pressure. Everything. Feeling nothing would surely have felt better than feeling like that every day.

She was ten.

Harley tosses her bag down on the couch in her office and aimlessly walks over to the window. It’s warm in Gotham today. Summer finally trying it’s best to arrive. Harley lets her eyes drift shut and sighs quietly as the heat of the sun shines on her face.

Not even Harley would have predicted that she’d end up where she is now. Sure, she’s not living the high-life, but at least she’s free. Free doing what _she_ wants. Everyone pegged her as a high-school drop out, knocked-up at sixteen and overdosing before she’d even hit twenty-one, hell even Harley thought along the same lines. But a skinny tweed-jacket-wearing-dork waltzed into her life and flipped that outcome on its head.

Harley’s not some superhero. She doesn’t really see herself as anything special, not like Jon. Jon kept her going. Kept her active. Kept her feeling _alive_. He’s insanely smart and innovative. What can she do? Cartwheels, throw knives and swing a bat. _Wow,_ a_mazing_. Maybe that’s another reason why she took this job. To show she can be useful and not just a dead weight.

Harley sighs harshly and opens her eyes.

“Fuck me. Are we gonna have this pity party all day?” she hisses under her breath.

_Fucking pathetic. _

Harley rolls her eyes and looks out the window for a distraction. One easily finds her in the form of an orange sea. Patients flood the yard, adorned in their orange jumpsuits and Harley searches the crowd, not knowing what she’s looking for until she finds it. A mop of green-tinted hair.

A wide smile splits her lips and that buzzing feeling returns.

_Joker._

Harley’s amazed that Strange actually listened to her. She finished her email before she went home on Friday night, listing her requests on the treatment of Joker. Yard privileges was one of them.

He’s separated from the others, alone and in another, smaller enclosure that’s sectioned off by more chain-linked fencing. He too is dressed in the standard orange uniform, but what surprises Harley the most is that he isn’t wearing a straitjacket or even handcuffs. Harley watches him unabashedly. Unlike the others who are talking or even working out together, doing press ups in the dirt, Joker just stands there motionless, his head tilted up towards the sky. He looks… peaceful. It feels as if Harley’s intruding in a way, having caught him in this moment, but she can’t turn her eyes away and feels her smile soften.

Harley turns from the window and rushes out the room. Her session with Joker isn’t until this afternoon, but the urge to go down and see him now overrides all the plans she had. She makes it down to the ground floor again in record time and takes the staff entrance out to the yard.

A wide dirt path greets her and it runs between the chain-link fencing of the large rec area on the right and a series of smaller plots on the left. The large yard must be reserved for the low-risk patients, trusted and allowed to interact with each other, whilst the individual, pen-like enclosures on the left are saved for the moderate to high-risk patients.

A lot of them are empty, Harley notes as she walks down the path. Though she soon sees a great hulking form doing push ups on the ground in one. Slowing as she walks by, Harley sees that the dark skin of the huge muscular man isn’t actually skin at all but a dark mottling of scales. They cover him from head to toe, well, she assumes anyway, going by his bald head and practically see-through white vest where the scales cover him entirely and dip below the waistband of his orange pants. The giant pauses and snaps his head up. His eyes that are a striking amber with slit pupils catch and lock onto hers.

“What you lookin’ at?” he snarls between two rows of clenched, razor-sharp teeth.

The corner of Harley’s mouth twists up and she stops. “You’ve got good form,” Harley compliments. The growling sound coming from deep within the man’s chest stops abruptly. “You can make it more challenging for yourself by doing them with one arm at a time. Or if you’re a real hot shot, Bruce Lee,” Harley grins, “try doing them on two fingers. That one’s a bitch, lemme tell ya.”

His dark lips twist in a grin, revealing more of his wickedly sharp teeth. Adjusting his position, he pushes up from the ground with only two fingers on each hand.

Harley cheers, pumping a fist in the air. “Go on, Brucey!”

He chuckles gutturally. “Names Waylon,” he introduces.

“Nice ta meet ya, Waylon. I’m Har-Harleen, but you can call me Harley,” she amends, winking. “Anyways, I gotta go. See ya around Waylon.”

Waylon grunts and tosses her a parting smirk before continuing with his finger push ups.

Harley turns and finally sees Joker a couple of blocks down. He’s still standing in the middle of his pen but he’s not looking up at the sky anymore.

He’s looking at her.

Harley feels her breath catch.

_How long has he been staring?_

Anticipation bubbles inside her and feels her small smile burst into a wide grin. She knows she probably looks like a complete dork, but the rush of excitement leaves her no room to feel embarrassed and so she picks up her pace as she heads over to him.

Despite Joker also wearing the standard, bright orange uniform, he still stands out. Kind of like a black hole in a way, Harley thinks, impenetrable, full of mysteries and draws in all attention to him. The baggy pants hang low on his hips and… he’s shirtless.

Harley’s eyes widen as she takes in his half-naked body, finding it difficult not to let her eyes wander. _When did he take his top off?_ Harley could’ve sworn he was wearing one when she was watching him in her office. _Christ, she was staring at him long enough._ He’s lean, borderline thin, _she needs to talk to Strange about giving Joker better meals too_, but he still looks strong. _Dangerous_

Her eyes are drawn down to the sharp ‘V’ of his hips before they drift back up to his face, only to find a roguish grin plastered there. Harley clears her throat, his name on the tip of her tongue as she goes to greet him.

“Hi. You must be Doctor Quinzel.”

Harley falters. She hadn’t noticed the two other staff approaching her on the path.

“I am,” Harley replies, somewhat hesitantly.

She doesn’t recognise the man or the woman. The man is dressed in orderly uniform and smiles at her politely. He has a kind face. The woman, the one who spoke, looks younger than the guy and more serious, despite also offering Harley a smile. She must be another psychiatrist too judging by her and Harley’s similar clothing; pencil skirt, blouse and white lab coat.

“I’m Doctor Joan Leland and this is-”

“Aaron Cash.” The man holds out a hand for Harley to shake. His grip is surprisingly quite gentle. “Nice to meet you.” He seems sincere too. A real friendly guy.

Harley’s not fooled though. She can see his broad shoulders and thick biceps practically bulging out of his blue shirt. He could’ve crushed her hand if he really wanted to. His relaxed posture but alert eyes give Harley the inkling that he’s probably been a guard here for a while.

“Likewise,” Harley smiles.

“So you’re Joker’s new therapist?” Dr Leland asks, but before Harley has a chance to answer, Leland ploughs straight on, “A word of advice, don’t let him talk too much, he’ll try to get inside your head and that’s when we start to lose the good ones.” Harley blinks and her smile wavers.

_Uh, what?_

What does she even say to that? Harley doesn’t know whether to feel offended or amused at being given ambushed advice.

Dr Leland seems to take her surprise for alarm. “I used to work with him a couple of years back, when he was first incarcerated. I soon quit and asked to be reassigned.” Dr Leland looks at Joker over her shoulder, her face set in tight lines, before turning back to Harley and leaning in. “That… man is sick. Some people just can’t be helped.” Her voice is low and unexpectedly not tinged with regret but callousness. The bite of her words leaves Harley bristling.

_Another one who’d rather have him put down like a dog. Some therapist._ Forcing down the urge to roll her eyes, Harley clenches her jaw and glances away from Dr Leland and her gaze wanders, almost magnetically, to Joker.

Harley feels her stomach drop. His playful attitude has vanished and not even the heat of the sun can warm his suddenly cold expression. Harley’s frown deepens when he turns away from her and walks to the Asylum’s wall that his yard is backed against. He knocks on the door that lies in the middle and it swings open almost immediately. Two orderlies file out and he’s roughly wrestled into a straitjacket, despite putting up no resistance. Joker’s lead away and not once does he glance back.

♦ • ♥ • ♦

_‘You look at me_  
_With eyes so dark, don't know how you even see_  
_You push right through me’  
_ _ \- Graveyard, Halsey_

Harley’s determined not to let her disappointment from the yard get to her and ruin her mood for the whole day as she heads towards hers and Joker’s new interview room. Nothing back there was her fault. But then why did she feel a sense of guilt seeing Joker’s face close off like that. He couldn’t have heard what Dr Leland said to her, they weren’t that close.

_Stupid, self-righteous doctor._ Harley’s seen the like of her kind before. Self-entitled altruistic do-gooders offering their words of wisdom like they’re the fountain of fucking knowledge. Anyone she can’t ‘fix’ deemed broken beyond compare, because if _she_ finds them impossible to help so would everyone else.

Harley snorts and makes a note to dig up Dr Leland’s diagnostic report on Joker later. It’ll do for a laugh.

Eventually coming across a door which matches Dr Strange’s description in his email, Harley pushes on the handle and steps inside.

Joker sits alone at the only table in the room. The layout not dissimilar to their old room in the basement. Harley’s glad to see that he’s not confined in a straitjacket though. _Boles got the message then, good. _However, he’s still handcuffed and fully dressed again, much to Harley’s embarrassing dismay, but that doesn’t stop a smile from instantly lighting up her face.

“Hey, how you been? Classy upgrade, right?”

Joker remains silent, yet he fixedly holds eye contact with her. He sits unnervingly still, hands clasped together on top of the table.

Harley purses her lips, a small frown puckering between her eyes. “Saw you in the yard earlier. Looks like Strange is holding up his end of the bargain.”

Something dark flashes across Joker’s face and his lip begins to curl. Harley swiftly raises both her hands in the air. “Ah, before you start going off on one and I was gonna tell you earlier by the way, but you disappeared,” she adds with a pointed look. “Anyways, I asked Strange on Friday if he could let up on you a bit, but in return he wants a full report on you by the end of the week. So, I emailed him some requests like rec time outside, access to books... a room with a view,” she jokes, gesturing around.

A ghost of a wry grin fleetingly touches his lips.

As Harley takes a seat in the chair opposite a worrying trail of thought crosses her mind. “You haven’t been taken to anymore ECT treatments, have you?” she asks, running her eyes over him, absorbing every little detail.

Joker tilts his head and watches her closely, almost as if trying to read her mind. “No,” he finally answers.

“What’s up?” Harley asks, her tone softening, “You feeling okay?”

“Fine.”

“Ookay.” Although his responses are short and clipped, he’s not snapping at her and Harley doesn’t sense any hostility coming from him. He just seems… detatched?

Should she bring up what happened in the yard? Would bringing it up make it seem like more of a big deal than it was? It was just Dr Leland bitching after all.

Harley watches him as closely as he’s watching her. Joker’s stillness seems too tense to be natural. He’s calm, but the whitening of his knuckles as he keeps his hands clasped together says otherwise. Then it clicks. It’s a defensive stance.

Harley struggles to find her next words as she wonders over this bizarre revelation. What reason does he have to feel under attack? She wants to break this unsettling distance between them.

A grin of calculating triumph sprouts across Harley’s face as she recalls a thought from earlier.

“Guess who I ran into last night,” she rushes to ask.

Joker raises an eyebrow.

“Penguin!”

Joker’s eyes widen and his posture relaxes slightly, much to Harley’s discreet pleasure.

He leans forward. “Where?”

“Well I was bored so I hopped on the subway and wound up in the Diamond. I didn’t realise it was Penguin’s club I was trying to get into and I was gonna leave soon after I got in ‘cause damn, have you seen that joint? Surprised that lot could even dance with those sticks up their asses,” Harley mumbles. “Anyways, let’s just say I didn’t exactly make any friends.”

Joker’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, a hint of his usual grin resurfacing. “What did you do?”

Harley huffs. “The creepy little prick tried to cop a feel of me so…” she trails off, debating whether or not to reveal the next part.

Joker waits. A look in his dark eyes all but compelling her to continue.

“I,” she hesitates, before exhaling in a rush, “threatened to blow up his place by waving around a couple of grenades that I borrowed from your stash at Funland.” Harley tries to laugh it off but it wanes at Joker’s renewed silence.

_Fuck. Should’ve known better than to steal from him._

_Why admit it, idiot? You were scot-free._

Harsh laughter splinters the silence, jolting Harley. With a racing heart she watches Joker shake with laughter. He points at her, unable to form words as he begins another bout of uncontrolled laughter. Harley’s lips threaten to smile of their own accord. She shakes her head with an oddly warm feeling of exasperation as she tries to calm her pounding heart.

“You-you did what?” Joker eventually and breathlessly asks.

“I held his ice sculptures hostage after I flooded his bar with champagne,” Harley answers, but her delivery makes it sound like a question.

Joker smacks his lips again as he grins, but strangely it soon wavers. “Penguin, despite how… ridiculous he may seem, he isn’t one to underestimate. He won’t let that slide, Harley,” he warns.

Harley waves dismissively. She can handle herself. “He started it,” she mutters.

Joker scoffs a laugh.

“I’ve got a plan.”

“I dread to think,” Joker drawls.

Harley tosses him an unimpressed scowl.

“Go on then,” he gestures his cuffed hands towards her before relaxing back against his chair with a smirk.

With his good mood tentatively restored, that giddy feeling flourishes in Harley again.

She adopts an innocent smile that no doubt looks anything but. “I’ll need the code to your toy room.”

“Blackmail, Doctor? You sink so low,” he grins, looking almost pleased.

Harley shrugs. “Don’t act like I won’t be doing you a favour here.”

“Gas lighting too?” he gasps. “What is this? Reverse psychology again? Projection? Psychic driving-”

Grinning, Harley holds up a hand to interrupt him. “Now you’re just throwing random psych terms at me.”

“Been here long enough. I’ve been brainwashed.”

Harley fails to withhold a snort of laughter. “I’m sure they tried their best.”

Joker looks at Harley with an enigmatic smile. She sees a plan brewing behind those dark eyes of his.

“What?”

He runs his tongue over his lips again. “Tell you what, if you want the code you’ve gotta play a game.”

Harley meets his goading stare head-on. “I’m listening.”

“How good is your poker face, doctor?”

“Hm and why do I get the feeling that you’re not suggesting a literal game of poker.”

Joker’s grin is one of predatory enjoyment. “If you want the code you gotta tell me about yourself.”

Harley frowns.

“Ah, but here’s the fun part.” He leans forward, bringing his cuffed hands up to brush away his long, faded green hair that’s fallen over his face. “Whatever you tell me, doesn’t _have_ to be true, you’ve just got to sell it to me like it is. I’ve just got to guess whether you’re lying to me or not.”

“What’s the point in that?” Harley rolls her eyes.

Joker’s lips twist with an inscrutable smile. “I like life better when it’s multiple choice.”

“Hm. What if you guess wrong? Will you tell me something about yourself?” Harley counters.

“Sure. Wouldn’t want the director to feel left out now do we?” He nods to the file resting on the table in front of her.

“Fine,” she accepts with a cocky smirk. “When I was young, I had a dog cal-”

“Liar.”

Harley answers his irritatingly smug grin with a quirk of her own lips. “I had a dad, mom and a brother,” she amends.

“Had?”

“Dad’s locked up, mom’s dead and-”

Joker imitates the harsh noise of an incorrect buzzer.

“Alright, not dead, but might as well be for all I know… or care.”

Joker hums. “Why’d your dad go to prison?”

“Stealing and selling anything he could get a quick buck for. Tv’s, car parts, phones, laptops, yada yada.”

“What happened to your brother?”

“I dunno. Soon as high-school ended, I left and never looked back.”

“Any romances?”

“One.”

Joker tuts.

“What?,” Harley frowns. “I’m not lying.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Do you mean how many people I’ve slept with? ‘Cause then I dunno. I don’t remember half their names.”

“Close relationships,” Joker amends, “the ones you loved.”

“Nope,” Harley says, popping the ‘P’. There’s no way she’s opening that can of worms until she has to. “You got it wrong, so now it’s your turn to spill.”

“Deal’s a deal I suppose.” Joker doesn’t look put off though. Still leaning forward in his chair, he runs his tongue slowly over his lips this time. Harley’s eyes are drawn to the movement. “Do you wanna know how I got these scars?” Harley feels her eyes widen infinitesimally. “My father was a drinker, and a fiend. And one night he goes off crazier than usual. Mommy gets the kitchen knife to defend herself. He doesn't like that. Not. One. Bit. So, me watching, he takes the knife to her, laughing while he does it. He turns to me, and he says, ‘Why so serious?’ He comes at me with the knife, ‘Why so serious?’ He sticks the blade in my mouth, ‘Let's put a smile on that face!’ And...” Joker tilts his head, his dark eyes boring into Harley, a grin of practiced charm tugging mockingly at his lips. “Why so serious?”

Harley has to glance away from the intensity. Not because he’s terrifying, no not in that sense, startling sure, but rather because of how lost she finds herself in his words, his story and the force that is… entirely _him_.

Harley was beginning to think that perhaps he just finds it hard to express emotion through his eyes. But seeing this, this ferocious yet artfully controlled passion, she realises that they’re bottomless wells of thoughts and feelings. Joker just protects and hides them unbelievably well. How could anyone believe that he is simple psychopath is beyond her.

Harley clears her throat, aware that she’s been sitting silently. 

“Come on, come on,” Joker goads, “you’d better start taking notes, doc.”

Harley cautiously plucks a biro out of her white coat pocket and starts writing. Harley doesn’t try to offer a guess of whether he’s lying or not, it doesn’t feel important to know the truth. The facts are there, bare for her to witness. His scars are deep and traumatic and although he wears them with pride, the memory of getting them must be forever burned into his mind. He lives with the pain of that every day. Every time he licks his lips is a reminder. It’s almost unfathomable to Harley. She finds herself thinking she’s lucky. At least her scars are out of sight and out of mind.

The mood has notably shifted in the room and Harley feels the urge to dispel any misplaced thoughts he might have about her sudden quietness.

“I know you have doubts about me,” she begins quietly, “It’s true, I am technically a psychiatrist, I somehow graduated, got a diploma and a pat on the back, but I’m not,” she grits, “one of them.” Harley catches his eyes in a sobering stare.

She doesn’t care about his history, his upbringing, his scars. There’s so much more to Joker than the many masks he likes to wear and the last thing Harley wants to do is exploit him.

Joker says nothing, but a hint of acknowledgment softens the corner of his smirk.

Harley breaks their connection and continues writing. Without looking up she continues, holding up her end of the deal, but also finding it oddly nice to talk to him freely like this, “I’ve been doing gymnastics since I was seven. I started to hate it, but it was the only thing I was good at. That’s how I got into uni, with a scholarship. Somewhere along the line I started to love it again. It’s challenging but when you’re in the moment, everything just falls away, you forget about everything else. It’s... peaceful. It’s just you a-”

Harley briefly looks up, realising she’s drifting into the realms babbling on and feels the heat crawl up her neck at Joker’s focused, yet undemanding gaze.

She breaks the connection quickly, “Uh, what else?” She doesn’t want to talk about Jon if she can help it. Harley’s still coming up short trying to figure out Joker’s ulterior motive for this game. “What do you want to know?”

“How did your relationships end? And don’t skimp, I can tell there was more than one.”

Harley scowls. _This again? _“There _was_ only one. I mean, does it count as a relationship if the guy I met, who _I_ thought wanted to be with me, dropped me right after he got what he wanted? In that case I overheard him saying I was a good fuck but too psycho for his tastes. That’s how it ended,” Harley bites out.

“Hang on,” Harley ploughs on, preventing him from interrupting her. She unbuttons the top few buttons of her blouse with rigid movements, “If you’re _so_ interested, I’ll show you how my first and _only_ relationship ended.” She pulls the fabric to the side, revealing her old bullet wound. Although fully healed, with white, raised scar tissue around the edges, it still looks painful with its darker, rawer-looking sunken centre.

Harley watches as Joker’s eyes latch onto the wound with an unidentifiable look. It looks like a macabre sort of interest, with a puzzling undertone of something… foreboding, something dark and menacing.

Harley quietly rebuttons her top as his eyes drift slightly and catch sight of her tattoo.

Joker’s eyes dart up to hers and it’s clear to see that this isn’t the last they’ll speak of this, but he drops it for now.

“What did Leland say to you?”

“It was nothing.”

Joker seems to wait for Harley to finish and regain her complete attention before asking, “Do you think I’m a freak?” His dark eyes sharpening in all seriousness.

“What?” Harley gapes, caught off-guard. “No! Needling and irritatingly cagey maybe,” she grumbles, “but no I don’t think you’re…that.”

“What did she tell you?”

Harley sighs and relents, “That you’re just sick and can’t be helped. That I should basically give up on you.”

“I’m not sick.”

“Well _I_ know tha-”

“I’m twisted,” Joker smiles, but Harley can easily tell that it’s a mockery of his usual grin. “_‘Sick’_ makes it sound like there’s a cure.” He pauses for a moment. “And do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Want to give up on me now?”

If not for the slight clenching of his fingers Harley would’ve sworn his casual tone was genuine.

Harley pins him with a scowl though the anger she feels isn’t exactly directed at him. “I’m here and I’m not going to give up on you, okay? Even though you get your kicks off by getting under my skin, I will. Not. Abandon. You. Okay?” she adjusts her tone, softening it and throws in a teasing eye-roll, “I will l get you out of here and nothing you say or do, no matter how much you piss me off, I’ll see it through. I promise.”

“Why?” Joker’s expression is carefully guarded. He lets nothing slip. “Why do you care so much?”

_There’s no easy way to answer that._ “Because,” Harley exhales, “despite everything… I like you and I want to help.”

Joker trails his eyes over her face as if looking at her for the first time again.

Harley tears her eyes away, starting to feel heat rising into her cheeks.

“I think it’s you who’s the unsolvable one, Harley.”

“Now who’s lying,” Harley grins, shaking off the peculiar feeling. “You’ve got an inbuilt lie detector and you can read me like a book.”

“There must be a fault in my code then,” he murmurs with an echo of a smile.

“Speaking of…” Harley flashes him a teasing smirk full of self-satisfaction, “I think I deserve the code now, don’t you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of I just wanna say holy shit thanks for over 100 kudos! ♥ and second **I'M SO SORRY** about the 'next update in two weeks' turned out to be half a year.... I am sorry but I hope I made it up to you with this whopping 8.7k word chapter?? T_T  
I haven't had writers block, like I know where I'm going with this I've just been in a rut and couldn't find the drive to write. It's a shit excuse but I felt like nothing I was writing was good enough.  
Anyways let me know what you thought of it! (and point out any errors or w/e you might've found.)
> 
> Aaand unless you haven't read the updated summary of the story I've decided to completely divert the characterization of my Joker from Leto's to Ledger's. I re-watched Nolan's trilogy and did a tonne of digging into Ledger's joker and while I rekindled my love for Ledger's Joker, I also realised how much people hate Leto's depiction and how I can see where they're coming from. _**So I've edited past chapters and going forward the Joker in this story is entirely based off of Ledger's portrayal.**_ (I explain this more in the notes of chapter 1) and I'm sorry if that upsets some of you, but it's the direction I want to go :(
> 
> **GOOD NEWS** I've created a soundtrack to this fic (you might've noticed the lyric headers) and you can check it out [**HERE**](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLAN1SUi08ivY1uDVKmzpuZAcx1L4pdBih) or copy and paste this link: **_https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLAN1SUi08ivY1uDVKmzpuZAcx1L4pdBih_**
> 
> _**MOST IMPORTANTLY**_ I hope you're all staying safe and well during this surreal time. Kudos to you all! ♥ - B_L


	14. Chapter 14

  
When Harley and Jon walk into Funland later that night the club is as packed as usual, which is surprising considering it’s a Monday. Just goes to show what a sad state Gotham is in. The week has barely started and people are already in desperate need of a night off.

What’s also surprising is how eagerly the crowd parts for them upon their arrival. As they enter the room Harley watches as the crowd turns their heads in a sort of chain reaction and not only do they all seem to recognise the two of them, but every one of their gazes drops to the floor and they hastily edge backwards to make way for them.

Harley quirks an eyebrow at Jon who looks equally baffled, yet they hardly complain as the crowd continues to split for them like parting water. Harley suppresses a snort of disbelief, feeling like she’s fucking Moses or some shit as they head towards the back.

Jonny Frost meets them at the ‘off-limits’ booth with a nod before leading them through the hidden door and down to the basement.

Descending the stairs, Harley’s lips flatten into a thin line as Frank Boles is revealed, sitting on one of the couches. His head snaps up and his bouncing leg freezes as he hears the three of them come down.

Harley’s somewhat amazed that he actually showed up. She’s relieved that he did, don’t get her wrong, but her dislike for him hasn’t lessened any. Because while on top of him being a pervy sleazebag for one, there’s also the fact that he’s severely neglected Joker. You would’a thought that he’d look out for him more, Joker being his _actual_ boss and all. ‘Cause there’s blending in to work undercover, but then there’s standing by while your boss _almost fucking dies_ from electroshock therapy (or as Harley likes to call it - barely legal torture). So, whether Frank’s disloyal, a coward or simply thick as shit, she will get her answer by the end of the night.

Harley catches Frank’s eye and tosses him a wicked smile that taunts him of an inside joke.

_She can’t wait._

Frank’s Adam’s apple bobs noticeably and his eyes widen as he takes in Harley’s appearance as she appears out from behind Frost when they reach the bottom. Long gone are her pencil skirt and blouse, ditched the moment she got home. Instead, her dull work clothes have been eagerly replaced with fishnet tights, distressed shorts and a low-cut top. His eyes remain glued to her as she prowls closer.

Harley’s stiletto ankle boots click loudly on the concrete in the otherwise silent room. She walks leisurely around the back of the couch Frank’s sitting on and although his jaw stiffens, he doesn’t turn his head. Harley grins.

Frost takes this time to take a seat on the leather couch opposite Frank. Jon meanwhile settles on another couch to the side between the two of them and raises an eyebrow at Harley. He seems confused but not surprised by her unwillingness to sit down.

Feeling her lips twist as she fails to bite back a smirk, Harley lightly trails her nails along the back of Frank’s shoulders and neck as she passes behind him. She bursts out laughing when he violently flinches.

Frost clears his throat and pins Harley with a scolding look, though he soon drops it as it’s clear that it’s having no effect on her. He sighs deeply.

“I’m glad you could turn up,” Frost starts, decidedly ignoring Harley and directing his full attention to Frank. His choice of tone though doesn’t correlate with his supposed pleasure in the slightest.

“Of course I would,” Frank quickly responds, almost indignantly.

Frost hums noncommittally.

Frank opens his mouth only to close it again at Frost’s considering stare.

“So what have y-”

Harley rolls her eyes. All this macho bullshit is making this take way longer than it needs to.

“Why’d you wanna kill Joker?” Harley casually asks, butting into Frost’s interrogation.

His scowl returns, which she replies with her own ‘what?’ look. She doesn’t want to be here _all_ night after all. 

“What?!” Frank splutters, twisting around only to jolt back at finding Harley suddenly so close.

Her hands are braced on the back of the couch either side of him, caging him in. They slide across the leather and up onto his shoulders.

“I’m sorry. Why’d you _want_ Joker to be killed?” Harley amends. “Whether you personally kill him is just... technicalities,” she says, waving offhandedly.

“What?”

Harley’s grip tightens and she digs her nails in. “You let them fry his brains. Repeatedly.”

“No, I- well, I-”

“Penguin paying you to kill him, is that it?” she murmurs into his ear.

“No!” Frank shakes off her grip and twists around in his seat.

“No?” Harley smiles, artificially.

“Harley!”

Harley ignores Frost, continuing, “You think that with Joker gone, you can take his place?”

“No! I’d never-”

Harley strikes. Wrapping an arm around his chest she pulls his back flush against the couch. Then with her free hand, she pulls out a small blade she had tucked in her boot and slaps the flat side of it against his cheek. “Tell me what deal you made, Frankie.”

Frank pales, his body turning rigid. “I swear I didn’t!”

“So…” Harley drawls, “there was a deal?” Lowering the knife, she trails it along his throat, a mere hair’s-breadth away from his skin. When he swallows he can feel it graze him.

“No!” Frank shouts, recoiling away from the knife but then cowering when that brings him closer to Harley. “There’s no deal. I didn’t do anythin’. I swear!”

“If you tell me now, I can help.” Harley lifts the blade away and Frank draws in a deep breath. He flinches though when Harley gently strokes his cheek with the back of her knuckles. “You know me, Frank, I’m nice,” she croons into his ear. “Joker on the other hand…” she retraces the trail she made with her knuckles with the point of her blade. “Not so nice.”

“Jonny! Please!” Frank cries, “I ain’t done nothing. I swear!”

Harley presses on the knife and a bead of blood trickles out of the shallow cut on his cheek. Frank inhales sharply and screws his eyes shut.

“Tell me.” She can feel him trembling under her blade.

“I swear, I swear!”

“Harley, enough!” Frost booms.

Harley huffs. “Fine.” She lifts the knife away and takes a step back, much to Frank’s relief. He sags deeply into the couch, the leather squeaking at the movement. “Spoilsport. He should be good though.” Harley pats Frank on his bald head, smiling sweetly. “Was just making sure, Frankie. No hard feelings, right?”

Frank shifts and watches her with incredulous yet cautious eyes. “Right….”

While Frost looks beyond frustrated, Jon looks unconcerned and arguably slightly bored.

“Frost,” Jon intercedes, “please.” He gestures to the coffee table.

Frost nods stiffly and takes a rolled-up document out of his jacket while Harley hops over the back of Frank’s couch and lands gracefully in the seat beside him, much to his wary displeasure and Harley’s great amusement.

As much as Frost finds Harley infuriating most of the time, he appears to acknowledge her usefulness because he doesn’t apologise to Frank on her behalf or admonish her for interrupting and taking over. He should thank her if anything, Harley saved him a job and saved them all a lot of time.

_Crude, but effective, that’s the Harley way. _

“So, as you know by now, Harley here,” Harley twinkles her fingers at Frank who darts his eyes away, “has been tasked with infiltrating Arkham, getting close to Joker and getting him out. You are to collaborate and assist her in this operation.”

“Okay.”

Frost unrolls the thick paper and lays it out on the table for them all to see. It’s the blueprints of Arkham Asylum. “Our progress has been halted due to a lack of reconnaissance and therefore information, which is where you come in.” He taps on the basement section. “Where are the emergency stairs in max-wing? You do have stairs, right?”

“Oh, yeah, they’re inside the guard station. There’s a door to a stairwell that leads straight up to the ground floor. Where it opens isn’t too far from the main entrance actually, just a couple of corridors down.”

“Perfect.” Frost pulls out a biro and scribbles down a mark and an arrow. “What about the Asylum’s power system? Does the max-wing fall under it too, or is it on its own circuit?”

Frank scratches the back of his neck. “Uh, I’m not sure.”

Jon raises an eyebrow.

“What do you mean you’re not sure?” Frost growls.

“I mean,” Frank hastily back-pedals, “access to the max-wing cells is possible in the guard station if that’s what you’re asking. Like if for some reason we can’t reach the patients or our staff cards are damaged, we’re able to open any or all cells from there.”

“The system is old though,” Jon comments. “During my time there we experienced at least two power shortages and it wasn’t even due to bad weather. Did it affect you down in maximum?”

“No. I don’t t-” At Frost’s darkening glare, Frank reconsiders, “We must be on our own system- have our own generator.”

“That shouldn’t complicate matters then,” Jon shrugs. “All we need to do is cut the power to the main building long enough for Harley to get through the routine security checks. Once she makes it down to the max-wing getting Joker out should be fairly straightforward.”

“Straightforward,” Harley parrots sarcastically, “and what will you be doing, Jon?”

Jon smirks lopsidedly at her. “Creating a distraction. While Frost is cutting the power, I’ll be infiltrating the ventilation system with my toxin.”

Harley gasps and feels a wide grin beginning to split her face. “You did it?”

“Did what?” Frost asks.

Jon turns to Frost. “You’re aware of my… applications regarding science, shall we say?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’ve perfected altering my formula into a gas state.”

Harley takes a pillow resting beside her and throws it at Jon. “Jon that’s brilliant! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You’ve been busy,” he shrugs, catching and placing the pillow beside him.

Harley frowns.

“That’s great. Really great actually,” Frost murmurs, his eyes lighting up. “Frank, are the generators-”

“Still outside.” Frank who’s been looking a little lost, jumps at the chance to input something helpful. “On the left side of the building within that chain-linked compound. It shouldn’t be actively guarded, but it’ll be monitored by cameras for sure.”

Frost hums. “The phone lines,” he taps the back of the asylum, “we need to disrupt the signal, but we can’t have too many men getting close, it’ll draw too much attention.” He slides his finger further and taps at a blank spot away from the building. “The mast. We’ll use the mast that’s across the street. We can cut the signal from there.”

Jon nods approvingly. “I’ll need… ten minutes at most to release the toxin for it to spread widely throughout the asylum. I won’t need help, though eyes on my back would be appreciated.” Jon leans forward and taps on a spot of the building not far from Frost’s point. “There are vents at the back of the building that I can access and your men working on the mast can act as a lookout too.”

Frost circles both points on the blueprints. “Good. I’ll iron out the final details and organise the team and equipment.”

“What do you need me to do?” Frank asks fervently.

“Nothing for now. But on the day of the breakout be ready for Harley’s arrival down at max-wing. This shouldn’t take more than thirty minutes to complete once she’s inside.”

“Thirty minutes? Is that all?”

“This plan we’ve got is smoother and more clear-cut than the one I had originally planned,” Frost admits, “we could potentially get Joker out this Friday.”

Harley’s eyebrow ticks upwards. “You really think you can get everything organised in four days?”

Frost nods confidently. “As long as you have your toxin ready,” he inclines towards Jon, who confirms with his own nod, “we’ll be set. I’ll have Joker’s best men on the job and then the rest is down to Harley and Frank.”

Harley slings an arm over the back of Frank’s shoulders. “We won’t let you down, Frosty.”

Frank looks uncomfortable but addresses Frost. “Jonny, there must be something I can do. I want to help.”

Frost sighs. “Alright. If you want to make yourself useful in the meantime take this,” Frost plucks a slim phone out of his suit jacket’s pocket and hands it to him. “Give this burner to Joker.”

Frank takes it hesitantly. “I can’t,” he laments. “We get routine uniform checks. If I’m caught with this on me-”

Harley rolls her eyes. “I’ll do it,” she huffs, snatching the phone out of Frank’s hands.

Frost shrugs, indifferent and rolls the blueprint back up. “Fine. Well that should be everything unless anyone has something they want to add?”

Harley shoots her hand into the air. “So, all I have to do is get down to max-wing right, while you guys are doing your thing? And Frank here will help me get Joker out his cell?”

Frost nods. “You might have to distract the staff at the front desk from checking the security cameras while we work on turning the power off and then just be mindful of the window you have to get down to Joker, it won’t be long. We want you in and out as quickly as possible, particularly before the authorities, or worse,” Frost’s mouth tightens into a hard line, “show up.”

Harley frowns, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth. She hadn’t thought about the Batman during all of this. He’d be swooping down on them in a flash if he thought Joker was trying to escape again. He’d be a huge problem. “Are we doing this at night?”

“No. Afternoon,” Frost corrects. “Rush time. The traffic will slow down the cops and the bat is less likely to show up if we hit the asylum during daylight hours.”

“Less likely?”

Frost doesn’t answer. “Now if that’s everything?” He smooths down his tie and stands.

Jon and Frank follow suit and join Frost as waits to the foot of the stairs. Harley trails behind and waves a hand at Frost’s expectant expression.

“You guys go on ahead, I’m gonna use the bathroom real quick.”

Frost’s eyes narrow. “I’ll wait.”

“Jesus, Frost.” Harley rolls her eyes. “You wanna come in and watch as I change my tampon too?”

Frost balks and his cheeks flush with a hint of red.

“I’ll start calling you my thong if you’re always gonna be up my ass,” Harley calls over her shoulder as she slams the door to the bathroom shut behind her.

Pivoting and waiting against the door though, Harley listens carefully for the sounds of three sets of footsteps climbing the stairs and that of the club door opening and closing before she sneaks back out.

Her eyes immediately lock on the door across the room that leads into the ‘meeting room’. Harley’s bound to find information on Joker’s rivals in one of his filing cabinets, she doesn’t need much to go on, a breadcrumb will do.

As Harley steps forward her eyes drift to the weapons vault. Detouring, she heads for the thick metal door and inputs the six-digit code Joker told her earlier today into the security keypad next to it. A low whirring sound groans from within and with a click the door opens.

Harley blinks.

She didn’t actually expect Joker to give her the right code. A wave of warmth slides over her. His unexpected trust in her has her feeling shocked yet also flattered. He’s given her free rein over what’s easily a few hundred thousand dollars’ worth of weapons. She could steal all his guns and ammo and sell it to the highest bidder for all he knows and still, he didn’t hesitate in giving her the code to it all. It’s probably just another one of his games, but Harley can’t suppress the small soft smile that quirks her lips.

Wrestling down her budding grin, Harley quietly closes the door and re-sets the alarm. Hurrying into the room next door, she heads for the cabinets but pauses upon spying a large board hanging on the right wall.

_Huh. Was that always there?_

Better late than never to be observant she supposes as on that board has a map of Gotham taped to it. All parts of the city are shaded in different colours. Harley matches the colours to the code on the side. Harley runs a finger down the list. _The Joker. Two Face. Black Mask. <strike>The Riddler</strike>._ She stops when she finds it, or rather, him and grins.

_Penguin_.

♦ • ♥ • ♦

The salt from the sea is carried pungently through the night air. The winds aren’t strong tonight, but a biting breeze still finds Harley as she hides behind one of the many shipping containers that scatter Gotham’s lower docks. Her nose wrinkles at the acrid smell but she remains silent and keeps her eyes locked on the building up ahead.

It looks like an old abandoned hangar with how big it is. Its curved metal frame reaches at least a couple of hundred feet high and Harley wouldn’t have given the building a second thought if it weren’t for the unusual arrival of a shady looking car.

It had been roughly half an hour since Harley turned up to scout around the light blue ‘Penguin’ marked area on the west docks, hoping to find something of interest. It was turning out to be a cold and disappointing evening until then, ten minutes later three of Penguin’s goons (one of which she recognised from his club) pulled up in a tinted SUV.

Creeping closer, Harley ducked behind this container and watched as one of them unlocked the chain and padlock securing the building’s doors while the other two began to take out metal briefcases from the trunk of the car. They then all disappeared inside and haven’t re-emerged since.

The tall wooden doors left parted allow a soft glow of light to spill out onto the docks. It tempts Harley in and growing increasingly bored of waiting she abandons her solid cover, relying on the darkness of the shadows as she lightly treads closer. She slows down to a tiptoe and hugs close to the sidewall of the building as the sound of their voices drifts outside.

“There’s still loads left. Why didn’t you bring more cases?”

“Boss doesn’t want it all moved at once in case there’s an interception.”

“Oh right. Smart. When we coming back for it then?”

“After we drop this supply to the shop. You stay here. We’ll be back soon.”

Harley flats her back against the wall and edges further away from the light as the sound of their footsteps reach the entrance.

“What…” a hesitant voice asks.

The footsteps halt. “What?”

“What about the Batman?”

One guy bursts out laughing while the other asks, “What about him?”

“What if he shows up?”

“That’s why you’ve got this.” The other guy grunts as something’s shoved against him. “Look, no one knows about this place and if you’re that scared, shut the doors and keep the lights low, we’ll knock when we’re back.”

“O-okay.”

_Poor guy, he’s terrified. Must be new. _

Harley listens to the screech of the doors as they’re slid shut and watches as the two others load the car and drive off.

_Oh well, nothing like a good ol’ baptism of fire._

Harley tugs her half-tucked away baseball bat free from her backpack, slinking around the corner and up to the large doors. She knocks.

It slides open.

“What did you for-”

_Thwack._

_Thud._

“Whoops. Sorry, darlin’, think I might’ve actually fractured your skull a bit there, my bad.” Harley swings her bat up to rest on her shoulder as she peers down at the poor guy. Knocked-out and lying flat on his back, Harley spies a large red bump already forming at his temple. She winces, “I’m sure with a bag of frozen peas you’ll perk right up in no time. Now if you’ll... just excuse me.”

Harley hops over his body, looks around and frowns. _How anti-climactic_.

Expecting towers reaching the ceiling and rows of goods and spanning the hall, the giant open space is filled with nothing but disappointment. Two vehicles, one similar to the SUV the guys drove in on and one commercial truck are parked near the back of the room next to a few empty shipping containers and apart from a couple of stone statues and picture frames leant up against each other off to the side, that’s it.

However, not too far from the entrance in the middle of the room sits a couple of open crates next to a table with a smattering of small boxes on it.

“What’cha got here then?”

Harley walks over and steps up to the table. Placing her bat on a free bit of surface, she picks up a box which fits snugly inside her palm. Wiggling off the lid she gasps. Nestled inside a slit of black velvet sits a ring clasping the biggest sapphire she’s ever seen.

Immediately she jumps to the conclusion that it’s fake. It must be. Peering closer though, the blue appears so deep and vibrant and the cuts inside it look impossibly clean, but since considering she’s no expect she guesses that it couldn’t possibly be fake simply because of the fact that someone so ostentatious as Penguin would demand only the best.

“Woah, pretty,” Harley whispers, entranced. She slips it on and holds out her hand, wiggling her fingers. The gem sparkles under the lights. “You’re coming home with me.” A giddy grin lights up her face. _Not such a lame night after all._ “Huh? What’s that?” Harley strokes the ring. “Your friends wanna come too? Well okay… but I’m a fair girl, so I’ll trade.”

Harley shrugs off her backpack and tips the contents of it onto the floor. Lipstick, a gun, a can of spray paint and firework after firework is shaken out. Some big, some small and one that looks a hell of a lot like a genuine bundle of TNT. Maybe it is. Harley bought the lot impulsively from her favourite shady dealer a while back, she didn’t care for the specifics, it was a good deal.

When the bag is empty, she scoops all the other jewellery boxes off the table and into it.

“I mean, these were for you guys anyway,” Harley admits as she crouches down and straightens up each of the fireworks, clustering them close together and picking out the other odds bits that fell out.

A low groan from behind her catches her attention.

“Oh good, you’re up.” Harley shoots up and bounds over to Penguin’s guy, wedging her fallen gun in the band of her shorts and tucking the can in a side pocket of her backpack.

“Wh-what?” he groans, struggling to even lift his head.

“I would’a hate to see you miss it.” Harley kicks his carbine away from him before she squats down next to him.

Twiddling the lipstick still in her hand, she uncaps it and leans thoughtfully over him. Tilting her head, she draws a little smudged heart under his eye. Harley backs off and laughs after he groans again and weakly tries to bat away her arm.

Tossing the lipstick aside, Harley fishes around her back pocket for her lighter, but pauses on her way back to the firework pile as she also pulls out her phone. Oh, not her phone she realises as she looks down at it, but the burner one she took from Jonny. It’s not passcode protected and opens at her touch. A grin of wicked anticipation spreads across her lips.

Accessing the camera, Harley switches to video mode and presses record. With her other hand, she flicks on the lighter with her thumb, crouches down at the pile, finds one of the longer fuses and holds the flame to it. With a hissing spark, the cord ignites and begins to burn. It eats its way down the fuse rapidly.

Jumping to her feet, Harley snatches her bat off the table and runs to the door, leaping over the man and almost kicking him in the head as he attempts to get up again.

Once outside, Harley takes off her bag to shove her bat back in and zip up to it. As she goes to hoist the bag back on her shoulder, she eyes the can of spray paint. Shifting the phone to her left hand, Harley grabs the can and starts spraying on the door.

“Hey!” the guy shouts. Harley shoots him a glance. He’s sat up now, holding a hand to his head and squinting as he looks at her. “What’re you doing? St-”

An unholy squeal rips through the air as the first firework explodes and hits the roof. Sparks rain down onto the floor and the guy jolts and rushes to cover his head with his arms. The deafening noise startles Harley too, but she steadies her racing heart with a breathless laugh. Finishing off with a cross, Harley drops the can and backs away, still filming.

She gasps as the next firework pierces through the old roof and bursts into a brilliant display of gold and green across the night sky.

A rapid series of smaller cracks break through the sudden silence and Harley flinches as something whizzes past her ear. Looking back down and through the smoke slowing flowing out of the doors, Penguin’s man is just visible and rocking on his feet as he waves around the carbine in his hand. Harley’s eyes widen as he follows her outside, stumbling and aims it at her.

An explosion louder and fiercer than the previous ones bursts from the building and with a loud clatter of metal, stone and brick the roof collapses in. Heat and smoke billow out the doors, sending the man flying forwards onto his knees. Harley catches her balance as the ground underneath her feet trembles.

Snatching her bag off the ground, Harley turns on her heel and runs. Dashing across the docks she ducks behind another shipping container just as another firework pierces through the air. With an exhilarated laugh she slumps her shoulders and brings up the phone again to capture the beautiful carnage.

The shrieking whistles of the fireworks sound like music to her ears. As does the screeching of a skidding car and furious shouting. Harley fades back into the shadows and flips the camera to her. Widely grinning she holds a finger over her lips before waving and ending the video.

♦ • ♥ • ♦

_‘Oh, it’s funny how  
The warning signs can feel like they’re butterflies’_  
\- Graveyard, Halsey

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Harley greets Henry and Terry as she hurries into the reception lobby and out of the pouring rain. “Sorry, I didn’t have time this morning for a coffee run.”

“Don’t apologise, Harleen. You spoil us enough as it is!” Henry playfully scolds. “And besides, I’d hate it if you were stuck out in that rain any longer because of me.” A light dusting of pink rises in his cheeks. Terry rolls his eyes and motions Harley forward with a wave.

“Next time I promise,” Harley smiles brightly as she peels back the hood of her coat and places her coffee down on the counter, which is abnormally heavy for a home brought plastic cup, along with her bag.

Stepping through the metal detector, she lets Terry wave the baton over her. He pauses as the baton beeps when he runs it over her lab coat pocket. At his raised eyebrow, Harley smiles apologetically and reaches down to pull out her phone.

“Sorry. Forgot I’d left it in there.” She places it on the counter next to her bag and cup.

Terry watches her face for a prolonged moment before nodding and reaching over to take her bag to peer into it. Harley waits patiently for him to hand it back to her. He says nothing after he completes his checks, just briefly quirks his lips up in a hint of a smile and gestures her through.

Harley beams. Pocketing her phone, she picks up her coffee cup and bag. “Thanks, Tez.”

The security guard’s brows furrow as he frowns at the nickname.

“Oh, Harleen!” Henry calls, almost launching out of his seat. “I almost forgot to say. The guards down from max wing called, said that your usual room upstairs was taken today so they’ve put… _him_ back in your old interview room.”

Harley’s lip twitches at Henry’s fear of even uttering Joker’s name. “Okay, thanks.”

“No problem,” Henry beams.

Changing course, Harley heads for the elevator. Having decided to fuck protocol and take Joker’s manilla file home with her yesterday, she doesn’t need to visit her office first. By keeping it in her bag it’ll save her a lot of time at the start of her shift every day.

As Harley steps into the elevator and it begins its descend to max wing, her phone starts ringing in her pocket. Taking it out, she looks down at the screen and while the name that flashes is familiar, an uneasy feeling of uncertainty rises.

She answers. “Hey, Jon, what’s-”

“What,” his tone, cold and measured, cuts through the receiver, “did you do?”

“Er….”

“What were you thinking?” he explodes. Harley winces, jolting the phone away from her ear. He’s furious. Beyond furious. Jon never raises his voice at her.

“I-”

“Frost is trying to plan the breakout and now he’s got an enraged Penguin prying around and digging for information.”

“How did you know it was me?”

Jon scoffs harshly down the line. “Who else would pull such a reckless and idiotic stunt?”

Harley’s lips flatten into a tight line. “Does Jonny know?”

“I’m here with him now. We were told the details a few minutes ago.” _Oh._ “So how do you plan on getting Joker out if you’re dead?”

Harley can’t help the snort of laughter.

“I’m serious, Harls. Why are you still messing with Penguin?”

“’Cause he’s an asshole,” Harley snaps. “I told you what he did.”

Jon sighs loudly and Harley can picture him pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why didn’t you tell me at least?”

“I dunno,” she mumbles. “I just wanted to do it on my own I guess.” A terse silence weighs heavily at Jon’s end. Harley groans, “You know I didn’t mean it like that. It was personal and a spur of the moment kinda thing.” She honestly didn’t mean to leave Jon out on purpose to slight him. “And I kind of had a bet with Joker,” she adds hurriedly, muttering under her breath.

Jon hears it. “Joker?” he asks incredulously, “Joker set you up to this?”

“No! No, it was my idea.”

“So what, you’re showing off for him now?” Jon sneers.

Harley’s eyes narrow. “Don’t be a bitch, Jon.”

“I don’t want you getting killed because of him!”

“He’s got nothing to do with it!”

“Oh really?” Jon drawls.

“You’re not my fucking keeper, Jon.”

“Stop acting like you need one then.” Harley wants to slam the end button on the call there and then. Her white-knuckled fingers twitch and she guesses Jon must realise this too for he sighs deeply and continues softly, “You’ve got to know when to pick your battles, Harls.”

Harley huffs, “I did Frost a favour if anything.” Her conviction fails to come out as convincing as she’d hoped.

“I’ll let you tell him that.”

Harley rolls her eyes. “Penguin doesn’t even know I’m working with Joker.” She drops her tone to a whisper as the doors open.

“So far. But after this stunt, you really don’t think he’s not going to try and find out all he can about you?”

Harley offers a smile to Frank and Carter where they sit in the guard room before she turns down the other corridor. Pausing outside her and Joker’s old interview room, Harley releases a heavy sigh. “Look, I’m not sorry for doing it, but I am sorry for not telling you. I didn’t mean to worry you, Jon, but I’m a big girl and I didn’t get hurt,” Harley’s tentative smile falls at the renewed silence on the other end. “I’ll see you tonight?”

“No. I need to run trials with my new formula before Friday.”

Harley opens her mouth but immediately closes it again. She can’t ask him to wait for her. Not after last night. “Be careful okay?”

“I always am.” Harley hears a faint smile in his voice.

_Click_.

Harley draws the phone down as Jon ends the call. Staring at the screen, she debates whether to call him back or not. Causing problems with Jon and Frost was not her intention at all. It was just a bit of fun at Penguin’s expense. She knew he’d take it badly, but his immediate snooping she didn’t expect. Especially by somehow interpreting that Joker and his crew were involved. The last thing she wants is to make life harder for Jon and Frost and potentially sabotage their mission.

With another deep sigh, Harley drops the phone back into her pocket and pushes down on the handle to the interview room. She’ll talk to Frost later and explain. Maybe get him a gift or something to compensate for his no doubt high blood pressure.

“Who’s Jon?”

Harley blinks, having barely stepped through the door. “Huh?”

Joker’s sitting in his old seat, straitjacket-less but still cuffed to the table as usual. He fixes Harley with a casually surreptitious look. She can’t read anything behind it. 

“Jonathan Crane?” Joker guesses. Harley stumbles on her next stride. _Shit_. “I didn’t realise you two were so close.” A mockery of a leering grin twists his lips.

Caught out and panicking, Harley struggles to think of a plan. “We’re-”

“Living together?”

_Fuck. How much did he hear?_ Harley inwardly curses. As appealing as denying everything is, it seems out of the question now he knows_._ It would just piss him off. Instead, Harley forces her shoulders to relax and takes her seat.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous,” Harley quips. Hopefully a distraction will work.

Joker’s eyes tighten. “The more outsiders that know of the plan, the more likely the plan will fall apart.” His curt emphasis at the end on the ‘T’, raises the hairs on Harley’s arms.

“But he’s not an outsider,” Harley calmly stresses, trying to appear more collected than she feels. _Make him believe it’s not a big deal._

“He is to me,” Joker growls.

_It’s not working. _At odds with herself, Harley chews her bottom lip. “You can trust him. I’ve known him since we were kids,” Harley confides, offering a small truth to appease him.

“Childhood sweethearts, how romantic.”

Harley scrunches her nose. _Okay, ew_. “He’s just a friend. Here.” She slides her coffee cup across the table to him, hoping to distract him with this instead.

Joker slides his eyes from the cup to her. Harley rolls her eyes. “Open it.”

He drags it closer and lifts the lid. If he’s surprised by the lack of said coffee, he doesn’t show it. He reaches in and pulls out the slim burner phone.

“So you can contact Jonny,” Harley explains.

He looks up. “Not Jon?”

Harley’s eyes narrow. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Why do you need to?”

“Why are you protecting him?” Joker scowls.

“Because… because I care about him.”

Joker tilts his head and his saccharine smile tightens. “I thought you cared about me.”

“We’re not seriously doing this?” Harley asks, one part deadpan, the other part completely astounded.

_He won’t drop it._ Not that she realistically expected him too. But she didn’t expect this level of enmity.

“Doing what?”

Harley looks at him incredulously. “I need coffee,” she mutters, shaking her head as she gets up and leaves before she says something she regrets.

♦ • ♥ • ♦

Harley shoves some quarters into a vending machine, forcing it to eventually take the same coin it keeps spitting out.

It’s ironic that the hot drinks the machine produces, which barely pass as coffee and not brown dishwater, has the balls to reject perfectly good money.

In hindsight Harley’s thankful that the ground floor staff room is empty as she kicks the old, robbing thing as it refuses to spit out her change after. With a twisted grimace, Harley watches as discoloured brown sludge begins pouring and spluttering into a thin polystyrene cup.

How the hell is she going to talk her way out of this one? It’s one thing admitting she knows Jon, a previous unorthodox psychiatrist of the Asylum, but telling Joker that she’s best friends with a gifted genius, who, since he was thirteen years old has designed and created one of the most potent and dangerous hallucinogens the world’s ever seen is insane. Who knows what Joker will do if he knows? It’s killing her to think about.

Harley grabs her ‘coffee’ and heads back down the lift to max wing.

As much as Harley’s grown to like Joker and as much as it pains her to consider, she knows that before anything else, she’d protect Jon first, no matter the cost or consequences. So if that means that her and Joker’s relationship turns sour and cold then so be it.

The thought of not hearing him laugh or see him crack a real smile at her again though leaves a bitter ache in her chest.

Harley clears her throat and then her face of expression before she re-joins Joker. Only, when she opens the door, she freezes.

He’s not there.

♦ • ♥ • ♦

The gate beeps and slides open, parting the way for Harley as she stomps down the wide corridor and Frank who follows anxiously behind repeatedly urging her to turn back.

”Carter won’t be gone long. He’s due back any minute now!”

_Of all the-_

Her incensed tunnel vision prohibits her to look into the other glass cells or register their patients’ shouts to her. She stops at the end of the corridor and turns to the last cell.

“Are you seriously throwing a tantrum? What are you? Fucking five years old?”

The calls from the other cells fall rigidly silent.

Joker’s lying on his cot, staring up at the ceiling. “Hello again, Doctor.”

“Why did you leave?”

Silence. He doesn’t even turn his head to look at her.

“Will you come back out?”

“Why don’t you come in here?”

“Seriously? Why are you still mad?”

“Hmm, I get that a lot.”

“I told you-”

“No,” Joker interrupts, curtly, swinging his legs around and standing up. “You didn’t.”

“How can I when you don’t trust me?”

“Trust you? What makes you so different Harley? You don’t even trust me.”

Harley’s eyes widen. “I do!”

Joker scoffs. “No, you don’t. Sure you ask them to remove the straitjacket, but you still leave the handcuffs on.”

“That’s not-”

“You’re no different from the rest of them,” he sneers, stalking closer to the glass. “You say you’re not a Doctor after my secrets, but you eagerly take my guns at the first chance you get.” A hard edge of bitter realisation enters his eyes. “You know… I hear them laugh sometimes.” Joker’s a good few inches feet taller than her, even while she’s wearing heels. His narrowed dark eyes glint as he stares down at her. “They laugh because I’m different, I laugh because you’re all the same.” The harsh malice thickly coats each word that croons out of his lips.

Harley bristles as brief flashes of emotion that she recognises as disgust and disappointment flit across his face as he runs one last long look over her before turning his back to her and walking away.

Out of pure impulse, Harley swipes her staff card on the panel next to his door.

Frank splutters next to her as the door swings open and she strides inside.

“I’m not-”

Joker swings around and shoves her roughly against the wall, his hand latching tightly around her neck. Harley instinctively brings her hands up to latch onto his, trying to ease the pressure off her windpipe.

Stroking the side of her face with his free hand he murmurs, “Oh, Harley, Harley, Harley.” A wicked smile stretches his lips. “That was a very stupid thing to do.” His hand strokes up her cheek slides into her hair and grips the strands.

“Afraid of you,” Harley finishes with a hiss.

“No?” Joker tightens his grip on her throat and leans closer. “You look nervous…. Is it the scars?” he grins, darting his tongue out to wet his lips.

Without the red paint smeared across his lips and scars, the natural raw redness of his scars is exposed. The one on the left side of his mouth is longer than the right. It reaches almost to the top of his cheekbone and where this one is thinner and cleaner cut; the right scar is deep and jagged - a chasm of red tissue that still looks tender and painfully taut.

Harley snaps her eyes up to lock with Jokers’. Being inches away from him, she sees the infinitesimal way his eyes have tightened at her lengthy scrutiny.

His breath brushes against her lips and her eyes dart back down. Her breath doesn’t escape so easily. Trapped in her lungs, she struggles for air.

Whether Joker realises it or not, he shifts closer, his body now mere centimetres away from leaning against hers and he relaxes his fingers around her neck slightly at her next gasp.

Harley being either brave, suicidal or simply lightheaded, throws Joker a crooked smirk before lunging forward.

Straining against his hold on her throat, she strikes out, licking a wet line across his lips and over his deeper, right scar. She flicks the tip of her tongue against the raised scar tissue and hears Joker sharply inhale against her ear before she’s slammed roughly back against the wall.

Her back hits the concrete with a thud and she tilts her head back and laughs raspingly at Joker’s stunned wide eyes.

Dark charcoal-coloured eyes seemingly darken further and the soft growl that escapes Joker’s lips is the only warning Harley has before he simultaneously dives forward and pulls her closer with the hand he has in her hair and captures her lips with his.

Harley gasps and Joker doesn’t waste the opportunity to sink his tongue into her open mouth, finding her tongue and stroking coaxingly along it. He pushes her harder into the wall, pinning her against it with his own body and Harley feels a current of pain shoot to her scalp as Joker wraps her blonde hair tighter around his fingers and tugs her head to the side to explore new depths to her mouth. The pain blurs into a burning and tantalising pleasure, sending a rush of heat straight to her core.

All remaining niggling rational thoughts and warnings swiftly leave her.

Refusing to give him the satisfaction of obedient compliance, Harley wraps a leg around the back of his thigh, pulling him in impossibly closer, whilst biting down sharply on his bottom lip.

Joker groans, the sound guttural, coming from deep within his throat. He thrusts his hips roughly against hers and Harley chokes out a moan, the sound caught by Joker’s grip still latching around her throat. Joker drops his hand from her neck and grips the back of her thigh to lift her leg higher and onto his hip. Harley inhales deeply at the abandoned pressure and latches onto Joker’s shoulders for balance.

A broken moan escapes Harley mouth as Joker runs a hand along her bare thigh and lifts her skirt. His fingers trail further and dig into the plump globe of her ass and pull her closer, jerking her hips forward into is. Harley’s head knocks back at the sudden movement, breaking her lips’ connection to Joker’s.

The heat and weight of his thickening length strains against its clothed confines as he slams against her thinly veiled entrance, grinding delicious friction against her clit through her dampening panties.

Her head would’ve smacked against the concrete wall of his cell if it weren’t for Joker’s hand both pulling and cradling her head with the way it’s buried in her hair.

His lips latch onto her throat and he gasps against her skin. Harley’s eyes flutter shut as he bows his head into the crook of her neck and pulls her flesh between his teeth and bites roughly before lathering her skin with the slick wet heat of his tongue. Harley arches against him, aching with a consuming need as he continues to grind against her.

“Fuck.” Her cry is lost on a sharp inhale.

She feels more than hears Joker growl against her neck. His raised scars and slight stubble rub and scratch against her skin. The sensations send a blazing rush of heat through her and leave her panties feeling thoroughly soaked with slick.

“Er, I- um…ah….” The incessant ramblings cut unwelcomingly into Harley’s haze.

Tilting her head, and biting her lip at the new angle it gives Joker, she sees a flushed and wide-eyed Frank, shifting from foot to foot outside the cell.

“C-Carter will be back soon a-and…” Frank trails off awkwardly, keeping his eyes locked his hands that fiddle with his baton which he holds in an uncomfortable grip.

Joker must’ve heard him too for the snarl he makes Harley can hear loud and clear this time.

His fingers slowly slide out of her hair and he leans away from her neck. Harley drops her leg from his hip, her body instantly mourning the loss of the heat and friction. Dropping her hands from his shoulders, Joker takes a half-step back. Both their chests rise and fall heavily as they each attempt to regain their breath.

Joker doesn’t once spare a glance at Frank. His dark, lust-blown eyes bore into Harley’s with a startling intensity that makes holding his gaze surprisingly difficult.

Dropping her eyes, she takes the moment to adjust her skirt. Joker’s lips quirk at the sides and silently he brings a hand up to smooth down her tousled hair. Harley feels her lips lifting to mirror his.

His hand trails down and caresses the side of her face but pauses at her jaw. With a curious frown between his eyes, he swipes a thumb over her skin there. Harley places her hand over his and pulls his away.

Dilated eyes follow her movements with rapt attention as she digs out a stick of concealer from her coat pocket and applies it generously over and around the area her ‘Rotten’ tattoo sits. Harley watches his eyes and now more than ever is desperate to know what he’s thinking.

Harley’s quirked smile withers slightly as she’s hit with a heavy weight of solemnity. “I want to trust you.” Her voice is barely louder than a whisper.

Joker’s eyes flick back up to hers but he remains silent, neither encouraging nor discouraging her admission.

Harley anxiously scours his serene veneer, searching for something, anything.

Realistically, he’s going to find out about Jon sooner or later whether she wants him to or not. But how can she convince him that Jon’s not a threat while also not to be taken advantage of? Harley wants to believe that Joker wouldn’t take him out simply because he’s got the potential to be a formidable rival. And what’s more, Harley couldn’t imagine that Jon would allow Joker to steal his formula from him either without furious retribution. Is it such a far-reaching dream to hope that they could simply get along without manipulation and bloodshed?

“You’re thinking too hard.”

Harley blinks and drops her practically interrogatory gaze. “Sorry.” _God, is she blushing?_

“Don’t be.” Joker offers her a small confiding sort of grin. “Thinking is difficult. That’s why most people judge.”

“I’ll tell you,” Harley blurts. She almost wants him to promise to give her his word not to go after Jon but the thought of it is laughable. “I want to trust you, so I will.”

Harley finds obvious amusement swimming in his eyes.

“If you make me regret it… I’ll kill you.”

A grin of rare pleasure breaks across Joker’s lips.

“Wipe that damn smile off your face,” Harley mumbles through her own annoyingly budding smile, pushing at his chest.

If anything, his broadens further. “Now that’s just mean.” Joker flicks his tongue out to wet the corner of his lips where his scar begins.

A burst of laughter escapes her as she pauses by the door. “See you tomorrow.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

♦ • ♥ • ♦

_‘Are there some aces up your sleeve?_  
_Have you no idea that you’re in deep?  
I’ve dreamt about you nearly every night this week_  
_How many secrets can you keep?’   
_ \- Do I Wanna Know? Arctic Monkeys

_Later that evening._

Slow and assured footsteps echo off dull concrete walls and eventually reach Joker as they pass his cell at the end of the corridor. Being the last cell in the run, they pause on their about-turn.

Joker lifts his head, feeling a set of hard eyes studying him, though he remains seated on his cot.

A look Carter can only describe as unnervingly insouciant settles across Joker’s face. It’s like he’s wearing a mask without his mask. It sends a wave of shivers racing down his spine.

Dark eyes, cold and blank hold Carter’s in an unwavering stare.

“Light’s out!” Carter shouts, straightening his back and setting off down the hall at a quicker pace than before.

Joker doesn’t even blink as his cell, along with all the others’, is plunged into darkness. He wouldn’t be able to see at all if it weren’t for the dim glow of a few lights still on in the corridor’s ceiling.

Not all patients are willing to sleep though. Riddler tries to draw Carter into a conversation when he passes his cell again and yells, firing curses when he ignores him. Croc roars, the thundering sound booming loudly in the confined space, which immediately shuts Riddler up. Carter hurries up and leaves, drawing the gate shut behind him and it locks with a resounding rattle.

Upon that noise, Joker gets up and pulls the head of his thin, bare mattress up. Running his finger along the grooved edge, he pushes firmly until it dips and pokes into a discreet cut in the foam. Reaching in he pulls out the phone Harley gave him. Granted, it’s not the most imaginable of hiding places and the orderlies are bound to find it on one of their upcoming routine cell searches, but he’ll flush it before they do.

Intending to text Frost for information, Joker’s eyebrow rises as does the corner of his lips at seeing a frozen picture of Harley’s smiling face after he slides a finger across the screen to unlock it. Curious, he scrolls the apparent video to the start and presses play.

The brightness of the phone lights up Joker’s face and reveals his growing grin as he watches Harley ignite a stash of fireworks and dart outside to what looks like one of the western docks.

He turns on the sound, though leaves it on its quietest setting.

A moment later a bark of laughter breaks through his lips as what she’s sprayed on the doors zooms out into view.

‘FUCK YOU, LOVE HARLEY X’.

His grin wavers a second later and his grip around the phone tightens as the camera shakes and the unmistakable sounds of gunshots are heard.

His eyes lock onto the screen, unwavering, even as disorientating as the footage is as Harley runs. His fingers twitch as if tempted to speed up the recording, despite knowing that she clearly makes it out alive.

The wobbling camera is soon straightened and redirected from the floor to the sky as Harley takes cover behind something. Joker can hear her elevated breathing faintly over the fireworks going off. He watches with Harley as she films the colours flare across the night sky.

His lips twitch with the ghost of a smile.

Harley’s face suddenly flips into view as she swaps to the front camera. Shadows darken her features as she slinks further along her hiding place and after bringing a finger up to her lips and waving goodbye the video cuts to an end.

Joker scrolls back again but pauses when the camera first flips to Harley after the show of fireworks. He traces a finger on the screen over the tattoo on her jaw which is only just that much more visible in the darkness of the video than under her faded foundation today. It reads, ‘Rotten.’

“Harley Quinn,” he murmurs, a flicker of a smile teasing his lips, “what do I do with you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! Sorry for the long wait. Please let me know if you spotted any mistakes or anything. But either way I'd love to hear your opinion! Thank you ♥  
&  
Stay safe ♥  
Black Lives Matter ♥  
**The playlist the fic is inspired by:** you can check it out [**HERE**](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLAN1SUi08ivY1uDVKmzpuZAcx1L4pdBih) or copy and paste this link: **_https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLAN1SUi08ivY1uDVKmzpuZAcx1L4pdBih_**


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